Newspaper Wars
by Annichka
Summary: Bella returns to Washington after Renee's death and finds herself in the middle of a newspaper war. Will her ethics survive an a-moral boss? Can she resist competing fishwrap publisher Carlisle's advances? Can she resist his son's? AH/OOC M for Lemons
1. Prologue

**A/N: So this is my first foray into writing my own fic. While I certainly want to know what you think, please be kind because I just don't think I could take that kind of rejection.**

**I do not own anything Twilight related, however my husband has enjoyed the fruits ...er orgasms that have resulted from my Twi-fic fantasies.**

~PROLOGUE~

"He will see you now, Miss Swan," Tanya said as she walked out of his office and into the massive, yet sparsely furnished lobby. "Mr. Cullen will answer no questions about his personal life, his father ,or his father's newspaper. Oh, and um, let me save you the trouble," she added, looking me up and down. "You're not his type. We clear?"

Who the fuck did this lady think she was and what kind of show did she think I was running? Not his type? I need this story and I sure as hell have no intention of allowing the likes of a public relations bitch like Tanya tell me how to do my job.

"Crystal."

"Great. You have 45 minutes until his next appointment. Make it count." With that, she turned on her expensive-looking heel, tossed her hair over her shoulder and stalked out.

Channeling Rose, I straightened my new pencil skirt, grabbed my notebook and walked confidently into Edward Cullen's office. I found him grinning crookedly, with crossed arms and leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Puget Sound. Rather than throw him on the ground and rub myself all over him, I decided to keep my job and opt for the less obvious route. I steeled myself for my line of questioning and put on my tough-as-nails facade.

"Nice to see you again, Edward. The readers of the _King County Reporter_ can't seem to get enough of you and so I am back–against my better judgment–to find out a little more about what makes you tick."

With one raised eyebrow he pushed off the window and leaned over his desk, a bit too closely into my personal space and said, "Oh, Miss Swan … it's going to take a lot more than 45 minutes and a tape recorder to find out what makes me tick."

His piercing green eyes were making me dizzy, and I had to glance away to regain composure. Biting my bottom lip, I swallowed thickly. "Well Edward, I can't go back to my editor without getting this story, so what pray tell, is it that you have in mind?"

Thirty minutes later I slammed my car door shut and leaned over the steering wheel of my beater truck trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong. Replaying the conversation in my head, I groaned out loud.

_Well you walked through the door, dumb shit_.

Resigned to my fate, I picked up my Blackberry and found Emmett's phone number.

"Hello."

"Emmett, for some reason your boss's son is dead set on destroying my life, so I have a favor to ask. I have two and a half weeks to get my ass into shape enough to go backpacking with Edward-fucking-Cullen, because apparently he thinks he is Crocodile Dundee or something. Are you up to the task?" I asked exasperatedly. "Because I don't think I've walked more than two miles at a time since like …."

"Whoa, hold up. Calm the fuck down, Swan, and start at the beginning. How did you start out with the simple task of 'business feature' and turn it into a Grizzly Adams sleepover and fuck-fest in the span of an hour?" he asked, obviously on the verge of busting a gut. "Girl, what do you think Daddy Warbucks is gonna say when he finds out his main squeeze is flirting with the family jewels–only the ones that don't belong to him?" He finally let out a chuckle. "I mean, you might as well pack up your desk now, because there is only one way this little camping trip is going to end… badly."

Emmett continued spewing his asshattery for a few more minutes before inviting me to tag along on his morning run for the next couple of weeks. He also said he could fit in some additional strength training at the gym.

I offered him no real explanations beyond the current disclaimer that I was brand new on the job, and I would be damned if I just usurped my life in California to lose everything a month later.

If I were being really honest though, I would admit to myself that Edward was the most exciting man I had ever been exposed to in my life. Despite that, my entire being suddenly filled with dread over what may well have been my untimely demise. This wasn't going to be pretty.

I put the keys in the ignition and willed my old truck to life. I still had to break it to my editor that I had no story for tomorrow and that he was going to have to pay me extra for the physical exertion and extended hours of my upcoming weekend getaway.

Flipping through the radio stations, I happened across AC/DC's familiar lyric, "I'm on the highway to hell." While not normally a classic metal fan, I just turned it up. I mean let's face it–the song fit the bill, and I have a tendency to wallow in my misery.


	2. Chapter 1 Coming full circle

SMeyer owns.

~Chapter 1~Coming Full Circle

**BPOV**

They say that you can never go home again. Well, I am certainly putting that theory to the test. It's hard to believe that after all of these years pushing as far away from home as I could, I've returned—returned to unpack all of my earthly possessions in this modest Seattle townhouse just six blocks from my new place of employment. A lot of things had changed over the past few months. Rather than avoiding the obvious any longer, I sucked it up and came home.

It was one of those rare, sunny spring days in Seattle, and I was just grateful that my dad was able to move the rest of the furniture I bought from the second-hand store in Forks without it getting drenched in the back of his truck. For the past couple of weeks, I had been dreading the move and the new job. After I put my dishes into the cupboard, I wondered about my new job and how exciting it would be to work at a newspaper that was bucking the system and adding new staff rather than downsizing.

_The Gate Business Journal_ had an incredible and eclectic team of reporters and editors in San Francisco, and when I first started there, it was a dream job. Sure, it was hard with all of my added responsibilities. However, I had something that few fellow classmates vying for the same summer internship possessed—an unfaltering work ethic, fueled by the fact that I had everything to lose if I wasn't successful. I couldn't just go home, at least not then.

My humble beginnings consisted of rewrites and business briefs. If I were being honest, I would admit that while I certainly had a nose for news and a passion for entrepreneurs and economics, I was lagging in my ability to write perfect copy on deadline. Over my five years at The Gate, I had built myself a reputation for being able to write about anything in the realm of business—no matter whose beat I happened upon that day. Rolling with the punches and my special knack for pinch-hit writing were ultimately what enabled me to stay employed through two owners, three publishers and two editors.

Before Renee passed away two months ago though, I was already questioning how much longer the San Francisco Bay Area could sustain the thousands of trained journalists that resided within it. The housing crisis that kicked off our lovely little economic downturn has wreaked havoc on newspapers across the country. Real estate advertising has been one of the saving graces for newspapers, despite decades of declining readership. But when the bottom fell out of the housing market, I knew my days in San Francisco were numbered.

I never really got much from my relationship with Renee, except perhaps a strong desire to live my life very differently from the way she did. My level-headed nature and always having a backup plan were among my defining characteristics.

Thinking about Renee was still hard. She was always sick with some catastrophic disease or another, and so when she told me in January, during her belated Merry Christmas phone call, that she had breast cancer, I honestly didn't believe her. Her hypochondriac tendencies stretched back as early as I could remember. Over the years, Renee had been ravaged by the likes of Lupus, gout, colon cancer, chest pains, a couple of mini-strokes, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Diabetes, ulcers, a herniated disc in her spine, and asthma. She seemed to be allergic to everything on the planet.

The only thing she really had was hay fever, occasional bouts of asthma, and an extreme desire for morbid attention. She left Charlie and me and high-tailed it to Arizona when I was six years old. Pretty much the only time I heard from her was when she had some new medical melodrama to report on. I never for a moment considered that she would really be sick. The hospital said that for all of Renee's extensive medical files at Phoenix Mercy Medical Center, Renee had never opted for a mammogram.

At her funeral, when her husband and his brothers carried her casket out of the mortuary after the services, all I felt was a blank numbness. Looking back, I think my mother died that rainy fall day she drove away from Forks in her dirty Chevy Impala. I remember being physically ill for two weeks afterward. Charlie could barely get me to eat or get out of bed at the time. From that day forward she became known to me as Renee, because mom just didn't seem to fit anymore.

Rather than head back to San Francisco after the funeral, I extended my leave with some vacation time and spent a few weeks with Charlie to regroup. I had a lot to think about and too many responsibilities not to look at this as an opportunity to improve my life.

I sighed to myself as I stood up from squatting where I had been unpacking the last box in my kitchen. _Not bad Swan_, I thought looking around. _There are some definite advantages in what my rent money buys me in Seattle over San Francisco. _

I stood up and dusted off the cardboard bits from the front of my jeans and washed the newsprint off my hands. Looking out the kitchen window, I saw the sun setting and smiled to myself. Even though my place was close to downtown, there was lingering evidence of the families that called this neighborhood home. A tricycle teetered on the edge of a walkway in the narrow fenced front yard across the street, like it was abandoned mid-ride. Shaking off nostalgia, I pulled the curtains shut. I wrapped my arms around myself thinking that tomorrow's dawn was bringing me more than the first day at a new job.

******

"No, Dad, that isn't necessary," I said as I struggled to wiggle into my pantyhose with my ear to the phone. "I got most of the big boxes unpacked last night, and I can just do a few more in the evenings as I have time."

"OK, well I took the last of the unwanted boxes to the Goodwill, and Sue and I can bring up your truck this weekend," he said.

Charlie's voice was even, but I could hear the excitement behind his offer. After nearly eleven years of absence, his daughter was home. Even though he lived more than an hour away, he planned on making up for lost time.

We said our goodbyes, and I finished ironing my skirt and got dressed. I looked in the mirror and pushed down the nervous butterflies in my stomach. I downed the rest of my coffee, grabbed my briefcase and raced out the door.

******

Marcus hefted me my "welcome-to-the-company" packet and its customary gigantoid section of Human Resource forms. "That should keep you busy for awhile," he chuckled, "but don't think you are getting out of writing a story just because it's your first day."

I smiled to myself. These days, reporters and editors worked even harder than they did a few years ago—just to keep up with the constant and never-ending pace to stay afloat. "I wouldn't dream of it sir," I said with a smirk.

"Great, when you are finished with those, we'll grab some coffee, and I'll show you around the newsroom and then take you downstairs," Marcus said as he turned back to his desk to grab his ringing phone.

As I sat down to fill out paperwork, I had an opportunity to check out the newsroom. There were piles of newspapers on nearly every desk, and file cabinets that were chock full with papers sticking out the top. The desks were arranged in numerous pods of four and were facing each other with a small, empty square in the center. Computer screens and stacks of piled court documents, steno books and city council agendas offered reporters a reprieve from staring at their colleagues while working on their stories. There were a few obvious inside jokes plastered to walls, along with a cork board 'wall of shame' full of red-marked clippings from competing newspapers. At the end of the room, I saw big screened computers and large scale printers for the graphic and copy desks. The walls held the last week's worth of front page editions of the King County Reporter.

The American newsroom is nearly a 24-hour a day operation, and from the slow start of less than a dozen people on the floor, it was clearly just the beginning of the one. I could smell coffee brewing and hear the sounds of people turning on their computers and checking voicemail before officially starting their day. The night shift janitor was still fumbling with emptying the last of the trash cans and recycling bins from the night before.

As I stood up to walk back to Marcus' desk, I bumped into a photographer racing back to the photo desk to listen to something coming across the scanner. "Oh, good morning," I offered shyly.

"Sorry about that, false alarm at the nursing home. So hey, you must be the new girl. Isabella right?" he said, catching up to me. Holding his camera to the side, he offered me a hand.

"Yep, that's me. I prefer Bella actually," I said, shaking his hand. "And you are?"

"Jacob Black, photo and graphics editor and honorary staff comedian. Look, I've got to run to shoot a press conference, but I'll definitely be seeing more of you later," he said looking me up and down with a wink. I groaned inwardly at the innuendo and kept walking. I made a mental note to steer clear of Jacob, though I couldn't help but notice his muscular arms and tight butt as he headed to the door with his equipment. You know it's been a while when even the insulting, cocky guy catches your eye.

Marcus saw me coming, grabbed his coffee cup, and smiled. "All set?"

"Think so," I offered.

"Great, I want to introduce you to someone." He pointed me in the direction a blond, in the midst of a heated phone conversation in the corner of the room.

"I don't care if you have fifteen appointments today. You may have said you would be there between 8 a.m. and 1 p.m., but I have a life and a job and if you want my business you are going to need to be more specific than that," she said, half turning towards us, holding her finger up to us to wait a moment. "I take my lunch between 11 and noon today. That's the best I can do. If your little white van doesn't drive up before I leave, then I'll call your competitor and see if he can satisfy me!" She slammed down her phone, and breathed a moment to collect herself before looking back to us.

"What's up, Marcus?"

Looking amused by her phone exchange, Marcus introduced me. "This is the new business editor and writer from San Francisco that I was telling you about," he said.

"Well, it's about goddamn time Marcus," she said sticking out her hand to me. "Sorry, but if I had to cover another business closure or unemployment update I was considering offing myself. I can cover murder trials all day long, but listening to the mom and pop shop crying over how their sales have plummeted and how they've been forced to empty their life savings to keep their doors open through the recession? That shit is depressing."

"Yeah, it's looking pretty bleak out there lately," I said. "BellaS wan."

"Rosalie Hale. Glad to have you on board. A little more estrogen in the newsroom is always appreciated. Now if you will excuse me, I've got to run to the sheriff's station and check the blotter before the Internet guy can get to my house."

"Don't let her fool you with that girlie estrogen crap, Rose covers cops and courts better than any man I've had the pleasure to work with," Marcus joked as we walked towards the elevator. "Most of the staff are out on their beat or start a little later, but working on business, you get one of our rare 8 to 5-er positions. Lucky you."

I gave him a sideways smile as he punched the first floor button. I already liked my new city editor, and thought he would be a good ally in the newsroom. Newsrooms had a tendency to be hostile places. The very nature of deadlines, aggressive personalities, and stressful stories meant that an ally was golden.

Marcus explained that he was taking me to meet with the publisher. Before I accepted the position, I got the lay of the land for what I could expect. With the exception of a sole general assignment reporter and the occasional freelancer or columnist, I was on my own for providing copy for my section three days a week. For my section in particular, meeting and establishing a professional rapport with the publisher was a make it or break it venture. While the editor in chief was responsible for the newsroom and general news direction, the publisher oversaw the whole publication. Occasionally you'll find a few publishers that actually care about news, but in general, the publisher keeps a watchful eye on the bottom line.

That is where I came in. The business editor sets the tone for all the clients that represent money to the newspaper. They also come most closely to walking the ethical line. An ethical publisher wouldn't have much contact with the business editor; a bad one would be an ugly, up-close and personal relationship that discredits good work. As we walked through the advertising department to the executive offices, I felt my hands get clammy as I reminded myself what exactly was on the line.

_You can handle him Bella, just turn on the charm and let him know what you're made of, _I reassured myself.

"Bella, meet our founder, owner and publisher Mr. Aro Volturi," Marcus offered grandly.

I put on my confident smile and shook the hand of my new boss, while my inner voice screamed:

_Oh, Bella you are so fucked._

**Reviews and recommends are helpful and appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 2 Worst case scenario

**A/N: So in case you are still wondering this is an AH/OOC story and the M rating definitely indicates the lemony tendencies. Anyway despite the rating, this really is a story with a plot and it will take me a few chapters to get you all up to speed. If you stick with me it will pay off. **Grins** **

**Thank you for all of you taking the time to read my story. You are all fabulous.**

**BPOV**

I pointed the fingers on my hand like a gun to my temple and pulled the trigger as I listened to my friend Angela tell me what a dumb shit I was. She still had a couple of hours of work left in her day, but that was part of the charmed life of a news editor. Fortunately for me, she was on the phone hundreds of miles away; otherwise my sarcastic gesture would have landed me a swat upside the head.

"Bravo Bella–talk about stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire," Angela said with a wry tone. I could always count on my closest friend and former boss to call it like she saw it.

"I just wish I had known more of the newspaper's back story before now," I relayed. "I guess his wife, Jane Volturi, ran for city council, and the Seattle Enterprise refused to endorse her. Aro tried to buy the _Enterprise_ off and this Carlisle Cullen guy–the publisher and part owner of the media conglomerate went ballistic. He called Aro out on the editorial page and sent accusations flying regarding her likelihood of using dirty political tricks and her husband's high-powered influence. Aro did a few interviews for TV and radio. I guess Aro denied throwing his weight around, but in private emails vowed to get Carlisle back. Apparently that is where I come in."

My co-worker, Rose, filled me in on the details over lunch on Wednesday. She didn't strike me as a gossip but I got the distinct impression she was conflicted and speculated on her own pawn status in Aro's game of world domination.

"You're such a drama queen, Bells. You mean, 'that is where the King County Reporter came in." I could almost hear Angela rolling her eyes. "Wow, that's a pretty bold move for the newspaper, if this Aro guy is so influential. So, that's why he decided to bankroll a newspaper in the backyard of the Enterprise? It's just too bizarre to be true. Hasn't he heard that newspapers are struggling to stay afloat right now?"

"From what my colleague says, I don't think the owner even cares," I said, recalling my conversation with Rose. "She thinks all he cares about is settling a score. And so far, I've got to hand it to him; he is hitting the Enterprise where it hurts."

"Hmm. So where does the King County Reporter stand now? How many staff do you have covering the region?" she asked.

"Not a ton. I guess there are about 23 reporters and editors in the newsroom. Still, that's seven more reporters than the competition. There are also quite a few stringers on retainer that cover the outlying communities pretty well. Honestly though, this isn't where the Reporter is winning. We have these amazing designers making our pages look almost like magazine layouts. We also use this fancy grade newsprint that make our pictures pop. Apparently, we are undercutting the competition by leaps and bounds in terms of ad space and stealing subscriber's right out from under their noses."

"Huh. So, your boss' expenses are off the charts. Who does that kind of stuff?" Angela mused. "What about your content? I mean, do the stories compete?"

"From what I've seen in my cursory review, no. We have a couple of pit bull reporters that are relatively experienced and can give as good as they get, but the Enterprise scoops us on something important almost daily," I said, begrudgingly. "Regardless, the public loves us. Evidently it is company policy to have one happy fluff piece on the front page every day, _and_ we have to let every organization and soccer team in town run their press releases on the news pages and lifestyle section. It's like a free for all and none of the submissions have to meet solid news value requirements!"

I heard myself losing the control that I had so perfectly maintained throughout the day at work. I hope Angela didn't notice my frayed nerves begin to seep through.

"So, how does this translate into your business page?" Angela asked, sounding worried for me. "I mean, I shudder to think about how these touchy-feely rules are going to affect you."

"Reading between the lines in my conversation with Aro earlier this week, I think he is relying on me to win over the last demographic contingent that has held fast for the Enterprise. Clearly Carlisle Cullen is very respected in the business community. Even with his deep pockets, Aro can't seem to win compete."

Angela started catching my drift. "Right, and where there are businesses, there are ad dollars, and the resulting financial influence."

"Exactly! How am I ever going to get businesses to trust me enough to give me a good story with this type of cloud hanging over the paper?"

"I don't know Bells," Angela said quietly. "But you have too much riding on this to give up now. Rather than get bogged down in the money show and the big boy pissing contest, I would just try and stay focused on doing a good job."

"Yeah, I just don't know if I can under these circumstances. Aro's secretary already forwarded me a list of possible story ideas, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I am required to follow up on at least a couple of them. I have been able to slide by with the story assignments from my editor, Marcus, for now, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to hold out."

"This sucks, Bella. At least if you were loving life and enjoying that fat paycheck you're getting, then I could forgive you for leaving me without my best reporter. Now, I guess I'm just going to have to be pissed at you."

"Oh, har-har. If I was so good, you would have paid me enough to stay," I said snarkily.

"Ha! I can't even pay _me_ enough to stay at this point. If it weren't for Ben, I wouldn't be able to afford our rent and the parking bill. I honestly don't know how you did it for as long as you did, with the salary freeze last year."

"Don't remind me. I still have the credit card bills to show for it."

"Have you looked up Emmett, yet?" she asked.

I smiled to myself thinking of my old friend. I forgot momentarily that I had a buddy in Seattle who could help me make life a lot less boring.

"Not yet. Since he works for the 'other' paper, I wanted to get my bearings before I have to listen to his shit about my new employer. 'Sides it's been a while since we talked, and I've been so busy with the move and all. . ." I leaned back on my pillows and tried to avoid looking at the open bedroom closet jammed with boxes.

Emmett McCarty was the sports editor of our high school newspaper in Forks, Washington. He went to Washington State University and I moved to San Francisco for school. Emmett was one of the main reasons I returned to Washington. I had no interest in moving from artsy and eclectic San Francisco to Southern California. At least in Washington I had Charlie, and could spend more time with my oldest friend, Emmett.

"You know, you two never hooked up. Maybe you should test the waters?" she said laughing.

I snorted at that. "Ewww. I've known him like, half my life. He feels more like a big brother than a potential date," I said, trying to scrub the errant thoughts of his muscled torso from my head.

"Who said anything about dating? I was thinking more along the lines of friends with benefits. I mean, how fucking long has it been since your nether regions felt a little love?" Angela said. I imagined that she was wiggling her eyebrows at me over the phone.

"Yeah, well in case you haven't noticed, complicated ain't my bag," I groaned at the unpleasant reminder.

"Alright, I gotta get through these stories that are piling up before we go to press tomorrow. Oh, ah. . . I almost forgot to tell you. Mike came by looking for your new phone number and address," Angela said, sounding like she was bracing for my negative reaction. "Don't worry, I didn't tell him anything. Just figured I would pass along the message. . ."

_God, I wish he'd just leave me the fuck alone already._

"Yeah, well, I guess that doesn't surprise me. He's got Charlie's number if he really needed to get in contact with me. I'm not ready to go there just yet," I said.

"Ughhh, Jesus, Bella," she said. "If you put it off much longer, you are going to be worrying about a whole lot more than a crackpot publisher and a stack of credit card bills."

"Okay, I think that's my cue, Ang. I'll give you a call this weekend. Give Ben a squeeze for me," I said.

"Just think about it. We ran a story a few months ago and I got the name of a good lawyer. . ."

"I already miss you and your meddling ways, but I will deal with this in my own way, all right?"

"Miss you too, Bells; I'll talk to you later."

I hung up the cell phone and threw myself back on my bed. The beginning of a nagging headache was playing around my temples and convinced me that I should just stop thinking and try to get some sleep. Aro, Marcus, and I were attending the Greater Seattle Chamber of Commerce annual dinner tomorrow night, and calling Angela was suppose to help me relieve my apprehension. Now, the "dress-up Bella Barbie" pimp show felt more like a welcome diversion from reality than the normal torture it was.

_Well, I guess that's one way to look on the bright side,_ I thought, trying to let go of the anger bubbling up inside of me. Mike threw away what he and I had years ago. Every once in a while he came around to remind me that he still has some power over me. Never again would I let myself slip into his trap.

_I'll surprise Emmett tomorrow on my break. That will get my mind off of things._

-0-

The perfection that was my slumber was all of a sudden filled with angry images of red, white and blue.

"Born in the U.S.A, I was boooorn in the U.S.A," bellowed through the poorly positioned speakers–not three inches from my head.

_Fuck. Note to self: program a new radio station into my alarm clock, because this is no way to start the fucking day._

I practically killed the alarm in my haste to get "The Boss" out of my brain. I was still grumbling a few minutes later when I opened my eyes and pulled my ass up out of bed. There was some sun streaming in the window, but I was disappointed when I got out of bed and noticed it was still mostly cloudy outside. At least I wouldn't have to worry about frizzy hair from morning drizzle. Today was an important day. The way Marcus and Aro were acting, it was starting to feel more like the outing of a debutante than the introduction of a new business writer. However, I had every intention of keeping the evening professional, and I was looking forward to showing my City Editor, Marcus, exactly how I roll. I just hoped that Aro would allow me the freedom to do that.

I snapped out of my reverie and hopped into the shower. I took a few extra minutes to shave my legs and used some hair treatment to get the extra shine I needed to boost my confidence today. Before I left San Francisco, I did a little shopping for my new job and bought a suit that I was excited to wear.

A little lingerie underneath always helped my confidence level, and I fully intended to pull out the big guns today. My Le Mystere black and pink boy shorts and matching lace push up bra were exactly what the doctor ordered. Le Mystere's Sophie line was understated and sexy, and that was the look I was going for; even if no one saw it. I did a twirl in the mirror and wondered what Emmett would think of how I looked now. At a size 10, I'm a far cry from the 6 I was in high school. I knew I had had some flaws, but I've come to love my full breasts and curvy hips. My stomach was still flat, my butt was round and my thighs were muscular; thanks to the stairs and hills of San Francisco and its ridiculous lack of parking. After one backward glance into my full length mirror I gave myself a wicked grin. Today was going to be a good day.

I put on my stockings and an off-white camisole and took my black suit out of the closet. The snug fitting, two button jacket and low-rise pants emphasized my assets. The lace band of my cami poked out at the bottom and kept everything covered, but if you looked carefully, you could see a little flesh peaking through the lace. It was a little reminder that kept me grounded. Even though business and news were considered a man's world, I was still a woman who wasn't afraid of being tough and feminine at the same time. As I grabbed my red heels, I thought about what Marcus would think when he saw me today. When I decided what to wear today, I knew he was hoping I would wear some flouncy dress or skirt that would have the men drooling. However, five years for _The Gate Business Journal_ taught me a few things about events like this.

First, where alcohol was involved, little work was actually done. Either everyone was too drunk to remember what they said the next the morning or too embarrassed to admit they said it. Secondly, where there were annual dinners; there were wives, and wives were helpful in reminding husbands what they said and with whom they spoke the night before. Wives also preferred women who were professional and didn't draw too much attention.

I put a few large curls in my hair and finished with some light brown eye shadow and mascara. Makeup was kind of a new thing for me, but covering business in the city, I learned that I had to look the part. I grew more comfortable with makeup over time and this morning I even added a bit of pink lip gloss for good measure.

I grabbed my bag and walked toward the door when I noticed the room filled with boxes at the end of the hallway. A stab of guilt and longing reminded me that today wasn't about just impressing the boss. I had bigger things at stake and no choice except to suck it up and play my part. It also reminded me that I only had until tomorrow to get the room whipped into shape.

-0-

On the way to work, I texted Emmett and asked him to meet me afterward at Gas Works Park. I would have a few hours to kill once I was off deadline, and since he was covering weekend sports, Em should have the night off. I figured I could surprise him with some sandwiches from the deli that was around the corner from my building. The dinner wasn't until 7 p.m. and I rarely ate at these types of events. On the off chance the food was good, I would fit a few bites in between conversations and mingling. More often than not, I was too distracted to eat. Instead, I concentrated on not talking with my mouth full and avoided getting food dropped down my shirt or in my teeth.

Once I got to the office, I figured out that my main story would be Boeing's Union contract negotiations. Lots of union members were calling in with anonymous gripes about how long it had been since they received a cost of living increase and complained of the move to cut back the medical benefits plan. Of course, the only people willing to go on the record were either past employees with an ax to grind or Union Reps who stated they were willing to go back to the drawing board. By the end of the day, there was still no resolution in sight. Previous experience told me that when it did finally happen, it wouldn't be to anyone's benefit. The Union would make sure they got their cut and do their best to prevent layoffs, and the company would find some way to cut costs. When your contract was up during a down year, raises and avoiding benefit cuts simply weren't in the cards.

Unfortunately, I had to ride with Jake, the lecherous photographer, to try unsuccessfully for an interview with the CFO. All I ended up with were five lousy minutes with the PR lackey. We were probably only in the car together for just over an hour since the Boeing production facility was in Everett, thirty miles north of Seattle. However, it didn't take Jake long to annoy the fuck out of me, and he was particularly insufferable on the way home.

"So, how are you adjusting to life at the Reporter? Have you had a chance to see the city yet?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Jake, I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I am originally from Forks, Washington. I've spent plenty of time in Seattle," I said sarcastically. "I'm all filled up on the sightseeing front. Thanks anyway."

"Oh, I bet there are a few sights you haven't seen yet," he said, cutting his eyes to his crotch. Following his glance, I noticed the bulge in his pants and looked up at Jake before rolling my eyes.

There was no doubt he was sexy and that the way the outline of his bulge stretched down his thigh was somewhat appealing. Something about him just screamed: "Stay away! I've fucked enough women to deliver a Petri dish full of diseases to your vag!"

He looked at me as though my thoughts were written all over my face. "You know, I have tried like hell to have a decent conversation with you all week. Did I do something to offend you? Because frankly, I think I've been rather charming, but at every opportunity you've shot me down," he said.

Immediately embarrassed, I backed off my bitchy tone a little and tried to explain. "Look, from all the comments on my apparel and sly innuendos, you offered the impression that you were interested in more than just friendly banter. I'm sure you are a nice guy, but I have a lot on my plate right now and random hook ups with colleagues are just not on my list of to-dos," I offered, somewhat apologetically.

He concentrated on changing lanes through traffic and his profile highlighted his russet skin tone and dark features. He was obviously brooding momentarily, then his lip curled into a cocky smile and he turned away from the road to tell me, "You have an awfully high opinion of yourself, Bella. I was just trying to help you feel at home. I can see now that my efforts were wasted. But in the event you change your mind and decide a late night booty call is in order, I'd be only too happy to oblige."

I laughed his offer off and tried to focus on finishing my notes on the laptop so I could file my story soon after I returned to the office. I caught myself stealing a few glances at Jacob's muscular arms and thighs while he was driving. Drawing a ragged breath through my lips, I did a quick calculation of how long it had been since I'd had a man in my bed.

Eleven months ago, Mike stopped by under false pretenses, and in my inebriated state he caught me in a rare moment of weakness. He was a terrible lay, and I was disappointed to find that the 8 year period between our sexual encounters hadn't earned him any points in the creativity department.

As much as I hated to admit it, Jake could probably run laps around Mike in the bedroom. I decided to change the subject. "You know, I am covering the Chamber's annual dinner tonight, right?" He nodded. "What do you think I can expect from the publisher. Have you ever shot one of these things that Aro attends?"

"Yeah, a couple I think," Jake offered. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure how he operates when it comes to his reporters and I'm nervous he is going to volunteer me to write stories in exchange for ad contracts."

Jake laughed. "I don't know about all that, especially with you being right there. But if there is something that Aro wants, he is well known for his ability to break the rules to get it. No code of journalistic ethics is going to stand in his way of getting under the skin of Carlisle Cullen. Targeting the ad line would be one way of doing it."

Back at the newsroom, I finished my story, but I couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that grew in the pit of my stomach. Marcus said that Aro personally signed off on hiring me. That meant he likely read my clips and saw my resume. I specialized in hard hitting pieces that shined a light on little-guy successes, earning a California Newspaper Publishers Association award for my investigative series on a Chinese sweatshop that turned hopeful immigrants into indentured servants. The long and short of it was that I have a solid reputation as an advocate in fair business practices. How could Aro possibly expect me hold myself to standards of less than that?

_Maybe he bought you for your reputation, Swan. Maybe your squeaky clean image would be difficult to challenge if anything fishy went down._

My mind always went to the worst possible scenario. I should have specialized in covering crime or become a lawyer, because I swear, I had a knack for sniffing out motives. I snorted at the thought. Me covering crime would probably have sent Charlie into wet dream bliss. I could see him now, dropping by on weekends with his case files to "walk through" the latest stick up at the Piggly Wiggly. As much as I loved Charlie; he was harboring some delusions about the criminal underbelly of Forks, Washington.

I grabbed my bag and called in the sandwich order before agreeing to meet Marcus back at the paper at 6:30 pm. In my excitement to see Emmett, I temporarily forgot about my concern over Aro. No matter how long it was between visits, we always slipped back into a comfort zone that reminded me of home–well, home and that time when he felt me up in the dark room our senior year. I bit my bottom lip, recalling the awkward but gratifying gropes and kisses just before graduation.

_Maybe Angela's suggestion shouldn't be cast off without a second glance…._

_You're such a tramp, Bella. Even at times of crisis, you can always be counted on for a pervy thought to lighten the mood. _

At the very least, I could count on Emmett to give me the straight scoop about what is going on between the two papers–even if he did work for the competition.

**A/N: Okie dokie artichokie**_**.**_ **Hopefully everything that is supposed to be clear at this point is. Feel free to pm me if I've lost anyone and please leave me a review. Just out of curiosity, do any of you have any dirty dark room stories to tell?**


	4. Chapter 3 Cat and mouse

SMeyers owns Twilight and its characters, but Newspaper Wars is all mine, baby.

**A/N: So this is my fourth chapter in a week and I love this story already. I just wanted to dedicate this chapter to my favorite FanFic authors whose work has inspired me to reach out of my comfort zone. They don't really know me, but their stories have made an impact on me in some way and I am forever grateful. DefinatelyStaying, hunterhunting, WinndSinger, Tby789, and AngstGoddess003, this one's for you.**

**~BPOV~**

Walking through the parking lot entrance to Gas Works Park, I suddenly got excited to see Emmett. The last time we saw each other was when I spent a week in Forks six months ago over Thanksgiving. I saw Em's tell-tale calling card in the parking lot and chuckled at his MUSCLMN license plate as I walked by. All through college he tinkered with restoring his 1970 Plymouth Hemi Cuda, and for a graduation gift to himself he painted it metallic silver. The personalized license plate was just a finishing touch. I teased him mercilessly at the time, telling him that he better keep up the rigorous workouts because otherwise, I might be tempted to buy him a new license plate more akin to Seinfeld's ASSMAN.

Even from a distance I could see he still had nothing to worry about. Deep in thought and leaning against a concrete park bench, Emmett was looking out over Lake Union.

Closing the distance between us, I snuck up behind him and leaned up to his ear and breathed, "Penny for your thoughts."

He was startled for a moment but quickly recovered. "Bells!" He pulled me into his massive arms and squeezed me so hard I couldn't breathe. "I've missed you so much." He eased out of the hug and took a step back from me and had a huge grin on his face. "You look absolutely ravishing, as always…"

I quirked my brow and smiled, "You too, beef stick. I brought you dinner, but I'm not sure what I'll be able to salvage from my bag after that bear hug."

I sat down at the bench and pulled out a slightly smooshed pair of pastramis on rye. I rarely visited Em empty handed, especially since food was his weakness.

Without so much as a warning, he launched right into nagging. "So, you gonna tell me why the hell you took this job at the fucking King County Reporter without consulting me?"

"Well, it was the only business reporting position that was open in Seattle that I could find after Renee …." I trailed off. I may have been actively grieving, but it didn't mean the subject wasn't hard to talk about. If anyone understood where I was coming from, it was Emmett.  
"It's all there was Em, and it was time for me to come home." I looked down at my sandwich and fiddled with wrapper to avoid his accusing eyes. "Not to mention, Marcus upped the pay they were offering originally and threw in a new laptop and cell phone to boot."

He grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms on the picnic table.

"I just wish you would have talked to me about it first, I could have saved you a lot of heartache." I could feel the vibrations of his leg bouncing under the table nervously. "You're too good for that paper Bella–this is a step backwards for you."

Heartache? Great.

I sighed and nudged him with my shoulder. "There you go, trying to protect me from myself again. I mean c'mon, Em, how bad can it be? At least I get to hang out with you."

"Yeah … well, I wish I could be all hunkey dorey about this, Bells, but remember what happened the last time I warned you about something?" he said, picking at his sandwich.

Here it comes. For being such a meat head, he had a memory like a vice.

"You hooked up with that fucktard Newton!"

"Okay, Emmett, calm down. You're starting to draw attention." I blushed, noticing two women checking Em out as they passed us on the footpath with their dogs. I gave him a knowing smirk before launching into my misgivings. "Look, I've already been privy to a few signs that have triggered my warning signal. Regardless, the reality is that for now at least–I'm stuck."

"Aro's paper is a slick publication. It's got all the bells and whistles of a modern, cutting-edge newspaper, but it lacks consistency and a solid reporting staff. The end product is nothing but a rag that isn't worth the paper it's printed on," he said.

"Well don't hold back how you really feel or anything, Em. I'd hate to be the cause of your indigestion later." I took a bite of my sandwich and winked at him.

"So uh, is this dinner considered fraternizing with the enemy?" I joked. "Do I need to worry about Cullen running your underwear up the flagpole as a sign of what happens to those that cross enemy lines."

He punched me in the arm. "You wish you could see my underwear, Bells," he said, following my gaze to the girls stalling at a nearby spot. They were–not so stealthily–stealing glances at him. He leaned in and whispered, "They don't hold a candle to you Isabella." I shivered at his use of my whole name. He moved his hand under my hair and drew circles under my ear with his thumb.

I smiled shyly at the flush that came up my neck and to my cheeks; silently grateful that I was wearing a blazer today, so he couldn't notice the instant goose bumps that covered my arms. Normally, I felt pretty confident about myself, but it has been a rough week with the move, and the cluster-fucked job situation.

"Is Mike still fucking with your head?" He shook his head and went back to eating his sandwich, like he didn't need an answer to the question. "When are you going to open your eyes and see that there are a lot of men who would kill to wake up next to you?"

Whoa. Damn. If he wasn't talking with his mouth full, I so would have had to change my panties over that one.

Emmett's lacking table manners gave me a chance to take control of the conversation. "Why Em? You offering?" I challenged with an evil grin and laughing eyes.

"Ahhhh, there's the feisty Bella I know and love." H wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Tread lightly with the flirting, Em. You don't want your oldest friend lusting after you."

"Do you hear yourself?" he teased, sounding surprised. "I want _everyone_ lusting after me."

"Eww, Em, that's just too weird to contemplate. You are such a slut." His only response was a conceited wink as he crumpled up the sandwich paper.

We both turned quiet for a few minutes and focused on the beauty of our surroundings. The industrial relics of Gas Works Park reminded me of art I'd seen in Dr. Seuss books. It was just so out of place and out of this world looking. The red, rusty mazes of pipes were stark against the gray sky. A distinct chill had settled in and it started to get dark.

Angela's suggestion that I consider Em as a potential fuck buddy had apparently gone to my head because I couldn't help picturing him naked. He interrupted the reverie and asked me how my trip to Arizona went.

"Aweful, and… not. I don't know," I sighed. "As good as could be expected I guess." I looked out at the water and searched for something else to talk about.

"Enough about me. What have you been up to lately… besides covering sports?" I asked, hoping to avoid Emmett's latest Seahawks rant. I saw his column this morning and he is obviously deeply disturbed by a long string of player injuries and some so-called curse involving the Virginia Mason Athletic Center.

"Well, I recently signed up to volunteer one day a week at the Boys and Girls Club teaching a sports day camp this summer. I'm kind of excited about that ..."

"Get out! I don't believe it," I said in awe. "What inspired this and how are you possibly going to fit that in with your daily workout schedule, twice-a-week marathon car detailing sessions, and late nights whoring up the club scene?" I giggled at his mock offense.

"I'll have you know that I've grown up a lot since you saw me last year," he said trying not to laugh. "Now, I only detail my car once a week." It was my turn to punch him in the arm. We joked a little longer at his expense and cleared up our dinner mess. I had to get back to the paper soon and Emmett offered to give me a ride.

"So…" Emmett said with a pregnant pause as we walked toward his car. "How is he?"

It took me a moment to figure out who he was talking about, but got the drift. "Fine. He took Renee's death hard," I said, remembering the events of the past couple of weeks. "It'd been a long time since they had seen each other. So, I guess I just didn't expect that kind of reaction, you know?"

"When's he coming out?"

I buckled my seat belt and turned to him. "Tomorrow," I smiled matter-of-factly, "along with my truck."

"Cool, because we have a lot to talk about."

"Hey I never invited you, ya know, and I sure as hell will not take any ganging up on me kindly." I was still pouting when we pulled up to my work. I started to get out of the car, but stopped when I remembered something I forgot to ask.

"Hey, should I know anything about Cullen before I meet him at this event tonight?"

"Ummm… only that I already told him about you," he said with a sheepish grin. "And I might have mentioned to him that we need to steal you away from Aro. He was intrigued, so I sent him that clip of yours from the CNPA awards."

_Fuck_.

After that little bombshell, I got out of the car and slammed the door. Apparently he wasn't done talking because he rolled down the window and leaned forward.

"Oh and Bells–he's a bit of a ladies' man, so I'd watch my ass if I were you." Emmett laughed as he rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb.

_Fuuuuuck._

-0-

In all my 28 years I had only been this nervous one other time, and that scenario involved blood. A lot of it. I took to the stairs like it was my own funeral procession. Marcus saw me from across the room and grabbed his camera. A small wave of relief washed over me at the realization that at least I wouldn't have to deal with Jake tonight. Marcus was making his rounds through the newsroom and a couple of reporters mentioned some last minute additions they wanted to fit in before deadline. I saw an opportunity, and excused myself to use the restroom.

I pulled out my makeup bag and applied some powdered foundation to my cheeks. The writing on the wall said that I was going to need it. If only I didn't turn red when I drank, then at least I could slam a drink once we arrived for a little liquid courage. Instead, I opted to add a darker shade of eye shadow for a smoky affect and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss.

Aro met us downstairs and I couldn't help but shiver when he touched my back as I climbed into his limousine. Something about him gave me the creeps and my instinctual reaction to his touch confirmed my intuition. The transportation choice was over the top, but I am finding that happens a lot when Aro and the King County Reporter were involved. I faked a pleasant smile as Marcus explained away Lauren's absence.

Lauren, our esteemed managing editor, I had seen all of two times in a week. Both of those times her lips were permanently attached to Aro's ass, so I'm guessing that is the extent of her job. It's fine really. Marcus should be the one at these events anyway. He was obviously the one who did all the work.

I tried to not fidget while we drove the six miles to the Seattle Marriott Waterfront. While I'd noticed that Marcus had a friendly face, I hadn't really looked at how his dark hair and light blue eyes gave him a slightly angelic look.

_That's probably because he curses like a sailor, has a tendency to fly off the handle, and has a propensity to tell inappropriate jokes._

Aro debriefed me on a few important people he was most interested in me becoming acquainted with. Marcus handed me a name tag as we stepped through the door, and in the span of a few minutes, we were flocked by Aro fans from the real estate contingent in the room. This wasn't surprising. Rose said that before dabbling in newsprint, Aro had made his mark in the business world by building shopping malls and strip malls all over the country. While Aro was occupied in talking shop with a department store representative interested in placing her glossy ad inserts in the Reporter, Marcus was able to introduce me to a representatives from Microsoft, Starbucks, a few area hospital administrators–and the Boeing CFO that avoided me earlier in the day. On the spot, I grabbed a comment from him and made my way to a quiet corner to call it in to the copy desk.

_She shoots, she scores..._

By the time I made my way back to the spot I last saw Marcus, he was long gone and in his place was, quite literally, the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was talking to a woman who appeared to be from a bank, when his eyes lifted to mine. He grinned. His unkempt reddish-brown hair looked like it had been in a fight with a comb and won. He was wearing an obviously tailored suit that looked like something from the 2010 Dolce & Gabanna line. Looking away immediately, I felt my face flush in embarrassment at being staring. I turned just a little too quickly on my heel and stumbled, bumping into the table in front of me.

His laughter preceded his question. "Usually, I just suck it up and introduce myself when I get nervous and the fight or flight instinct kicks in," the man said.

"Hmm. My first instinct is to fight, what does that say about me?" I smiled and offered my hand. "Bella Swan, new business writer for the King County Reporter."

"Ah. I'm… Edward, owner of Seattle Cycle Tours," he said.

I was intrigued. I've seen a few vans with his logo on them, loaded with bikes on top, around town this week. "I've heard of that before. So how big is your business? Have you been doing this long?"

"About five years. I have nearly 50 employees at this point and we are just about to expand our operation to include backpacking tours as well," he said as he sipped from his champagne. His piercing green eyes never left mine, and I could see a distinct trace of amusement behind them.

I was about to delve deeper and to find out more when Marcus caught my eye from across the room. His eyes were wide and he was clearly trying to get my attention quietly.

"Uh... if you'll excuse me for a moment, I think my editor is trying to get my attention," I said.

He gave me a sly grin and stepped aside so that I could move past. "I hope we get a chance to see each other again, Bella."

I stood there dazed for a moment as he walked away and Marcus snapped me out of it. "Why the hell were you talking to Cullen?" His voice was quiet but the tone of anger did not escape me.

"Wha … no," I said, looking around to find him and clear up the confusion. "He said his name was Edward."

"Yeah," he said expectantly, waiting for me to catch up. "Edward, as in Edward Cullen–son to Carlisle Cullen and heir to the Cullen Inc., media conglomerate," Marcus explained.

_There goes my future babies with the sexy cyclist. Damn. I wonder how he looks in spandex…_

Aro's voice trailed into my inner conversation and I lost the fleeting tendrils of my spandex wet dream. "I'd like you to meet Bella Swan, our newest addition to the staff and the woman who is going to help us bring your paper to its knees." There was a distinct trace of sneering in Aro's voice and it caught me completely off guard.

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Swan, always happy to put a face with a byline," he said as he caught my hand and kissed it, lingering a few seconds too long. Shock registered as I looked into the familiar features. "I am Carlisle Cullen, the object of Aro's ruination and publisher of the Seattle Enterprise."

The fact that Carlisle was Edward's father was simply amazing. He didn't look a day over 40 and his blond hair obviously hid any touch of grey that may have threatened to give him away. His straight nose and square jaw looked just like Edward's, but the dark blue eyes were no match to his son's green. Still, when this father and son duo was done taking the Seattle business scene by storm, there could be a lucrative future for them in modeling for Abercrombie and Fitch. They looked more like brothers than father and son, and even through their suits I could see the distinct lines of chiseled stomachs.

I think I gathered my wits about me enough to mutter something along the lines of, "hello," before he exchanged a few strained pleasantries with Marcus and took his leave. The look he sent me over his shoulder, before being swept away by a group of investment bankers, was cold and reminded me of how a cat might look with a mouse in its claws. I shook off the shiver and remembered that Aro and Marcus were still standing there.

I didn't want to play into Aro's hand, but the exchange with Carlisle seemed a little too familiar and Marcus had a questioning look on his face.

_Thanks a lot Emmett._

"Well he certainly has no problem calling a spade a spade, does he?" I asked rhetorically. "I wonder how he'd feel if I scooped the Enterprise on the expansion of his own son's business on the pages of the King County Reporter?"

Aro slapped me on the back with a hearty laugh. "Bella, you are going to do just fine with us. Just fine indeed."

**A/N: My dream Edward (the one featured in this story) looks a lot like our friend Rob, but 30 years old and with a lot more muscle. The interviews I've seen and read with Rob have made it clear to me that while I find his face and voice incredibly sexy, he is just a little boy with some hygiene issues. (Before you argue that the hygiene issue has been overblown, I will offer that I have it on first-hand authority from a fellow journalist in L.A. that he, indeed, smells.) Anyway, my dreamy Edward is yummy and this was only a taste. You are all in for such a treat!**

**Don't forget to check out some of the visuals to NW on my profile.**

**I've gotten lots of hits on this story already, but few reviews so I guess my question is: Do you want me to keep going? Are you even the slightest bit curious what happens with Emmett and Carlisle?**


	5. Chapter 4 Revelations and risky business

**AN/ SMeyers owns it all. On with the show..**

**BPOV**

Even though I fully intended to avoid inebriation for the evening, I decided to stay at the Chamber dinner long enough to sample some tiramisu and a glass of white wine. I mingled a little and gathered a couple more business contacts and story leads before calling myself a cab. Home was only a few miles away, but it was cold and my feet were aching from wearing heels all day.

My mind wandered as the city lights blurred past on the drive home. Edward Cullen. I rubbed his business card in my jacket pocket and the little girl in me thought about sniffing it, but I pushed the thought aside and grinned to myself. I was actually looking forward to work on Monday because I knew my first order of business was to call Edward for an interview. Rehearsing the conversation in my head, I stopped short when the look on Carlisle's face drifted in. Emmett had told me to watch my ass and I made a mental note to get more details on that warning as soon as possible.

Making my way to the front door, I turned the key in the door and turned on the light in the entryway. My townhouse was quaint, but with every day that passed it was beginning to feel more like home. I couldn't help but smile as I took off my shoes and stepped onto my cinnamon colored pottery barn rug. I got a great deal on a normally $1,200 rug on eBay and still practically squealed whenever I felt the thick soft woolen fibers squish between my toes. Angela helped me put the purchase into perspective with a passing remark six months ago. "Look at it this way Bella, you've wanted one of these forever and at this rate, you are never going to be able to afford it. Give yourself a break once in a while, throw caution to the wind." From that purchase on, I slowly began shifting my décor towards a cinnamon and taupe theme and saved for the nice things I wanted rather than making do with cheap substitutes.

I looked at the clock and remembered how much work I had to do before Charlie's arrival in the morning. A little excited flutter of butterflies danced in my abdomen and I hurried to the closet with plans of making the other bedroom as homey and inviting as the rest of the house. Once I shed every trace of my work clothes and climbed into my spaghetti strap camisole and yoga pants. I grabbed a glass of my favorite chilled Sauvignon Blanc, and put my ipod in the dock and shuffle unexpectedly brought one of my favorite songs. The sad guitar strings crooned through the ihome speakers as I made my way to the back bedroom.

**Cocaine flame in my bloodstream  
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane  
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes, in the early morning rain  
Lately my hands don't feel like mine  
My eyes are stung with dust and blind  
Held you in my arms one time  
Lost you just the same**

**Jolene, I ain't about to go straight, it's too late  
I found myself face down in a ditch  
Booze in my hair, blood on my lips  
A picture of you holding a picture of me, in the pocket of my blue jeans  
I still don't know what love means, still don't know what love means  
Jolene**

-Ray LaMontagne, Jolene

_Ray, you're not the only one who doesn't know what love means. At least not the kind of love you're singing about._

Focusing on the task before me I dug in and started putting all my favorite story books from my childhood on the book shelf. I rubbed the worn spine of Jack in the Bean Stock lovingly. The escape that stories always provided me was something of a double-edged sword. Fantasy was a happy retreat that always embraced me, but it can also become a crutch that enables avoidance.

_I hope these books mean something different for you, baby._

I was on my second glass of wine and well into unpacking the third box when I heard a knock at the door. "Just a minute," I called; trying to unbury myself from the folded sheets I was in the midst of unloading on the closet shelf.

I walked down the hallway and looked out the peephole and saw Emmett peering back with a smile on his face and I unlocked the door.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here after you sabotaged my meeting tonight," I spat. "Seriously, my editor was suspicious about my interaction with Carlisle who had the gall to KISS MY HAND in front of my boss, his sworn enemy no less and you … you have the nerve to call Mike a fucktard! Well I have three words for you Em. Pot, kettle, black."

He was practically laughing at me with his eyes until I mentioned Mike. I've only seen Emmett angry a couple of times in all the years I've known him and I was fairly certain the flash that passed through his eyes just then could have set something on fire.

"For years I have sat back with nary a comment about the 10-ways of fucked you have gotten yourself into with that dim-wit. Bella, be pissed if you want about Carlisle, but don't you EVER compare me to that dead beat that left my best friend pregnant and broken," Emmett's face had transitioned from anger to hurt and when I looked closer to the message behind his eyes, I saw something I'd never seen before. Longing.

"I would," he said, catching himself mid-yell and lowering his voice, "Well. . . I would never have treated you like that Bella."

When I looked up at him, my pissy resolve dissipated and I felt my heart fluttering in surprise and by his admission and sudden closeness. He was only a couple of inches from my face and his hooded blue eyes were staring at my lips. I unconsciously pulled my bottom lip into my teeth. Emmett closed the distance between us and brought his hand up the side of my neck, lifting my chin so that I had to look into his eyes. My whole body flushed with unadulterated need and I felt knees go weak when Em leaned in and sucked my bottom lip into his mouth.

Cautiously, as if he expected me to bolt any minute, he pulled back to gauge my reaction. My breathing hitched when his soft lips left mine and I leaned in and kissed him back. That was all the encouragement Emmett needed. He wrapped his arms around me and stepped between my legs in one motion and pulled my body up to his. I closed my eyes when he kissed me the second time and tried to focus on the sensation of his warm tongue rubbing mine, and his obvious hard on growing against my hip. His breathy kisses slowly morphed into forceful needy ones and his right hand moved up my side. Taking his swollen lips off of mine, Emmett placed a few kisses along my jaw as his hands pushed the straps of camisole off my shoulders.

"I've wanted to touch you like this for so long Bella," he said quietly as he sucked on my earlobe. I felt myself go slightly rigid at his admission and I sucked in a breath to tell him to slow down a second.

_What the fuck am I doing?_ I backed up a few steps but Emmett caught me up in his arms and I felt his tongue on my collarbone as his thumb circled my nipple.

I heard myself mutter an incoherent "unngh," and decided I didn't care. He kissed further down my chest and pushed my shirt down below my breasts and sunk to his knees on my carpet. I leaned back a few inches and was suddenly grateful that the couch was so close to the front door.

"God, you are so beautiful Bella," he moaned into my skin before taking a nipple into his mouth. He sucked and bit it lightly and any resolve or hope I had of stopping this freight train before it went too far, flew right out the window. I pushed off the arm of the couch and went to my knees in front of him. The weirdness that I expected to feel as I ran my hands down his chest and stomach to the hardened outline of his cock was lost in the wave of lust that crashed over me.

I moved his T-shirt up over his abs and leaned down to lick his chest, placing open kisses all the way to his neck. Somehow in my own quest to touch his skin, I hadn't noticed him slipping my shirt to my hips. Emmett's hands palmed my breasts, his thighs firmly against mine. His body leaned into me and my hair fanned out on the very carpet I had pondered not two hours earlier. Emmett scooted between my legs and crawled up my body, kissing my lips gently.

"Bella do you want this too? Do you want me?" his deep voice practically growled in my ear as he ground himself into my wet pussy.

"Please Emmett, stop talking and just fuck me already before I change my mind," I heard myself say. I was so turned on and it had been so long since I had an orgasm by something other than an electrical appliance, my responses were practically running on auto pilot. Emmett lifted my ass off the floor and pulled off my pants and my panties. My clothes got caught up on my ankle and he pulled my pants over my foot. He looked up at me and watched my reaction as he planted a kiss on the arch of my foot, repeating the gesture behind my knee and inside both of my thighs.

I was a little self conscious when I realized I was completely naked and Emmett still had most of his clothes on. I was about to sit up on my elbows and demand he follow suit, when he spread my legs open to tasted me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I tried to remember if anyone had ever made me feel this good before. "God, you taste so fucking sweet Bella. I'm going to make you cum so hard."

He plunged two fingers inside my pussy and I cried out something unintelligible. Emmett continued licking me while he fucked me with his fingers. I arched my back to get a better view of him between my legs. I was so sensitive at that moment I, I swear I could feel his taste buds massage my clit.

I ran my hands through his hair and pulled him closer to me. I could tell I wasn't going to last long and rather than let him have his way with me, I sat up to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Emmett pulled a condom out his wallet and I snatched it out of his hand before he could put it on. I got up on my knees and ran my hands around to his ass before coming back around front to touch his balls and grip his cock. He was leaking and I bent down to lick the pre-cum from his head. He twitched a little when my tongue circled his head and groaned in protest when I pushed him back down on the carpet. Straddling him, I bent down to lick him one last time before rolling the condom over him.

I didn't care if his pants were still around his knees; I just needed to feel him in me. He didn't disappoint in the size department, but it had been a while so I gently lowered myself onto him. Emmett whimpered when he was fully sheathed and held my waist to pull himself in and out of me.

"Uuungh, fuck Bella you feel so tight on me," he said in between groans. After a few strokes I was already so close to coming. Pushing myself further over the edge, I lifted myself higher off of him, slamming him deeper inside me with every stroke.

"Fuuck, I'm so close Em." He held my ass firmly against him and his final thrusts lifted us both off the floor, and I lost myself in the spasms of my orgasm. Emmet let me ride it out for a second, and I felt sweat trickle down my back. Emmett kicked off his pants the rest of the way and told me to get on my knees. I giggled at his demand and playfully wiggled my ass in front of him.

"You like that Bella," he said as he rubbed my clit with his hand and teased my entrance with himself. I pushed back into him and he grabbed my hips and buried himself deep inside of me over and over until he cried out with his climax.

We both laid fell back on the floor. To stave off the awkwardness of the situation, I hopped up to get us a towel to clean ourselves. I steeled myself for the talk that needed to follow up this complete fuckery.

_Well, Bella, this one takes the cake for dumbest thing to do on a lonely Friday night. Maybe Em was lonely too and this won't permanently mar our friendship_, I thought hopefully.

Once we cleaned up, we sat on the couch and I put my hand inside his.

"Emmett, you made me feel amazing, honestly. But … _what_ the fuck was that?" I asked, feeling a little shitty that I needed to spring this conversation on him in the midst of our lingering post-coital bliss.

"Ummm, Bells I know it's been a while but uh, you'd think after having a kid you would have remembered the birds and the bees lesson," he joked, slipping his T-shirt over his head. He recognized that I was insulted by the inexperience jab and wrapped his arm around my waist. He rested his head on my chest and sighed.

"I meant what I said about wanting to touch you forever. I wasn't trying to confuse you. You were just so sexy standing here all pissed off at me in these skimpy pajamas and I couldn't help myself."

I gave him a sideways smile and stood on my toes to kiss his nose. "You're not so bad yourself, but Zephyr comes home tomorrow and. . . " I trailed off, thinking about how confusing this would be for my son. "You know I love you, but if I ever get into a relationship, it's going to be for love-love, not friendship-love."

As satisfying as that session was, it was all hormones devoid of butterflies and sparks. Emmett pursed his lips as if I had hurt his ego, but loosened his grip on me and kissed my cheek. He sighed and looked at me curiously, "I know Bells, but you can't blame a guy for trying." He was definitely confused. It's weird to think that you can make love to someone you don't love. I understood his confusion and felt a little prick of disappointment knowing that I won't ever get to experience that again.

We turned down the lights and snuggled up on the couch with a bag of popcorn and watched _Lost in Translation _on HBO. The flick was a fitting metaphor for Em and I. Maybe if we had met each other at different times in our lives we would have had a chance. As I slipped into oblivion I wondered sadly if I would ever find a man I could love and who loved me as completely as my best friend. Maybe not, but tomorrow I would love on my son after not seeing his sweet face for an entire week.

It was enough.

-0-

Emmett had a couple of hours to kill in the morning before he left for work and agreed to help me get Zeph's room finished. Putting the bed frame together was pretty quick but Emmett was particularly useful in reconfiguring the Lego figurines that had been jumbled in the move.

"You missed your calling bud, you should have been a Lego engineer," I joked.

"Yeah, I wish! Oooh where did Zephyr get the sweet X-Wing Fighter," Emmett said holding up the boy toy in reverence. "I tried to snag one of these last Christmas on eBay but lost the auction."

I laughed at the thought of Em buying toys on the Internet. "Aren't you a bit old for toys? I mean, you could always spend your money on fixing up your apartment. Have you even replaced that goddamn toilet seat that pinches your ass when you sit on it?"

Cocking his head and wearing a smug look he went back to work. My jab didn't even dignify an answer.


	6. Chapter 5 Zephyr

**A/N: So glad you have stuck with my little story, and grateful so many have put this story on alert/favorites. Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or its characters - totally wish I did though!**

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**BPOV**

I frantically rushed around the kitchen, simultaneously straining the gnocchi, broiling the prosciutto pesto chicken and emulsifying the balsamic vinegar and olive oil in the food processor. I wanted dinner to be perfect for Charlie and Sue after all they had done to help me throughout the move. My dad even took my truck to his mechanic friend and sprang for a tune-up, which was a welcome and unexpected surprise. I peeked into the oven and saw that my provolone topped chicken concoction had developed a perfectly light brown tinge and was bubbling in yummy goodness. I turned off the stove, and was half listening to the full-tilt tickle fest under way in Zephyr's room when Sue surprised me in the kitchen.

"It's nice to see you smile again Bella. It's been a while," she said.

I looked at her thoughtfully, grateful that my dad had found someone to feed his soul the way Renee never could. At first glance, Sue wasn't what someone would call beautiful but she was the kind of person who seemed to reveal a new alluring quality in nearly every interaction. Sue had all the classic markings of a fifty year old American Indian woman, complete with black eyes and long shiny black hair swirled with a few streaks of grey. Her quiet lilting voice and deliberately slow movements had a calming affect that I almost instantly responded to. I loved that Zephyr would have a chance to get to know her better now.

I wiped my hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of my jeans and considered her comment.

"It has been a while, but I think this move is going to be good for Zeph," I said, as I set the bread on the table.

Sue found the cupboard with the plates and helped me set the table.

"You're home now, near your family; this is where you belong," she said matter-of-factly. She stopped and rested her hands on the back of the dining room chair and looked at me like she was pondering something that puzzled her.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" I said brushing my cheeks with my hands.

"No, I was just wondering how long it's going to be before you stop using your perfectly well-adjusted child as a shield to deflect any opportunity to find some happiness for yourself," she said with a quirked brow.

Okay, maybe her complete inability to beat around the bush and indulge my love of avoidance was a personality trait I found less than endearing in Sue. She was a dichotomy for sure.

"I would love to find the man of my dreams and run away to Jamaica to get my groove back and all Sue, but it's just not in the cards for me," I replied. I finished setting the table and plated the chicken.

"Who's running off to Jamaica?" Charlie asked, slightly out of breath. I was so caught up in my conversation with Sue that I hadn't heard him sneak up behind me with his grandson on his back.

I busted up laughing when I noticed that my Dad had apparently been talked into playing dress up and was wearing my Marilyn Monroe wig from last Halloween and Zephyr's Batman cape. "That's really a good look for you, Dad," I said, reaching for my cell phone on the counter. Before he knew what was happening, I snapped a picture. "I think the guys down at the station should see the kind of shenanigans you've been up to on your days off. "

In one fluid movement Charlie had slid Zephyr off his shoulders and lunged to grab the phone out of my hand.

"Run, Mom, I'll save you!" Zephyr laughed, and wrapped his arms and legs around his grandpa's leg. By now, everyone was laughing and, even with Zeph in tow, Charlie had managed to corner me in the living room between the entertainment center and the bookshelf. I caved when tickle torture commenced and narrowly escaped peeing my pants.

After dinner, Sue and I washed the dishes while Zephyr took a bath. She had me forward the photo to her phone. I almost gave us away with my svelte moves when I tripped and dropped my phone on the way back to my purse, but Charlie was watching the football game that Emmett was likely on the field covering. While Sue was wiping down the counters she slipped me a furtive glance and quietly mentioned something about using the photo for their Christmas cards this year. "He'll have long forgotten that picture exists by the time Christmas rolls around, that'll get him for digging up my rose bushes."

I made a mental note not to cross Sue—she played dirty.

It was a long day for them, but rather than waiting until the morning, Charlie and Sue drove home. As appealing as a blow up mattress on the floor was, I think they just wanted some alone time after having Zephyr for a week. Zeph kissed them both goodbye and the love I saw in Charlie's eyes took my breath away, but it was my Dad's "I love you son, be good for your Mom," that caused my eyes to prick with tears. I know that Charlie loves me and that there isn't anything he wouldn't do for me, but displays of affection were not his thing—at least they didn't use to be. Zephyr had managed to change both of us for the better. He assuaged the hurt I'd held onto for years when Renee left, and his carefree spirit and love for his grandpa has single-handedly melted Charlie's reserved nature. My little man had no idea how thoroughly he affected all of us.

After Charlie and Sue left, I realized that I'd spent the day feeling like I was holding my breath. That anxious feeling seemed to flutter away as I padded back to my room to slip into my pj's. I turned down most of the lights in the house and walked down the hall to go snuggle with my son. I tapped on his open door to get his attention, noticing he was thoroughly sucked into the Harry Potter book we were in the middle of reading.

"I thought you were going to wait for me. Now I'm going to be lost," I said as I crawled under the covers with him. I wrapped my arms around my son and tousled his hair. "I missed you like crazy, you know." He gave me a sideways smile and acted like he was a little embarrassed at my gushing.

"Yeah, me too," he said. "Do you like your new job?"

I pondered his question before deciding on going with the most honest reply. "I'm not sure yet, little man. But I'm working on it, so I don't want you to worry about it."

Zephyr furrowed his brows a bit in concern. He always worried about me. Sometimes I felt guilty about the honesty policy I maintained with him. I wanted him to trust me enough to always be real with me, and in order to earn it, I paved that road first. Zephyr was the perfect combination of everything I liked best about mine and Mike's appearances. He had Mike's light blue eyes with a darkened ring around the outside of the iris and my thick dark brown hair and long dark eyelashes.

_Oy, God help me when the girls discover you, Zeph._

He launched into reading the most recent chapter aloud. It was the part of _The Sorcerer's Stone_ where Hagrid led Harry through the porthole key that landed them in Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid was taking Harry to Gringots bank to get some of the money his parents had left for him to purchase books for his wizardry courses at Hogwarts. After the chapter was complete, Zephyr closed the book and was deep in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked. He looked at me as though his thoughts might not be something I wanted to hear, and I couldn't imagine what part of that chapter had him so serious.

"Mom, why doesn't Dad want me?" Sadness, anger, and fear clenched at my heart and I took a breath to carefully formulate an answer.

"Baby, Mike was never your dad," I started. "Mike helped to bring you into the world, but unfortunately he made the choice to not be a parent. He didn't reject you, because he doesn't have the foggiest idea how incredible you are. It's more like Mike rejected the responsibility of being a parent. I know it feels personal, but it isn't. And Zeph, the loss is his."

There had been a few times that Mike had come around since Zephyr was born. Therefore, Zeph had seen Mike and so his birth father wasn't some big secret or anything. However, whenever Mike came calling, it was always under false pretenses. He usually lured me in with a sudden interest in Zeph and would let me down when I caught on to his bullshit. Once, when he was between girlfriends after I'd returned to San Francisco State, Mike thought I might just roll over and let him have his way with me "since we have a baby and all." He even held Zeph a few times, but through the façade I could tell his smile was feigned.

On that fateful day, just over a year ago, when Mike showed up on my doorstep, crying about his breakup with that snide bitch, Jessica, my inebriated mind let down its guard enough to let Mike talk me into allowing him into my bed. Not my proudest moment. He hinted at the possibility of us trying to be a family and I was just lonely enough to fall for it. I may have been drunk, but I wasn't stupid. I never really believed he wanted me, and I should have known that the bottom line was that Mike just didn't want anyone else to have me, either.

I found out later that a mutual friend leaked that I was dating someone at the time, and I think he thought he could prove I wasn't over him. At least that was what he screamed at me from the hallway of my apartment in his underwear the morning after our little drunken transgression. In hindsight, the whole scenario was fucking funny. Sure, I was a class A slut for letting that man back into my bed, but kicking his ass to the curb in nothing but his Tighty Whities and his shoes while he screamed obscenities at me was really… empowering. I had thrown that little shit's clothes out the window after coming to my senses and forced San Francisco's leading anchorman and local television personality to walk down four flights of stairs and around the building in his underwear. Fortunately, lady luck was on my side and some fabulous passerby snapped a cell phone photo. Mike's ass was all over a local news blog for two weeks afterward. Did I mention he sucked in the sack?

_What a waste of a good buzz._

I was ashamed to think about how I started crushing on Mike almost as soon as I noticed him my freshman year at SFSU. He was a promising, broadcasting sophomore with a charming personality and endless confidence. The following year, my position as assistant editor of the student newspaper, _Golden Gate X Press,_ propelled us into similar circles. By the time we had started dating we had been in a few core journalism courses with each other, but it was a class project that really threw us together. My untimely pregnancy a few months later brought on a whirlwind of emotions.

I was afraid of what kind of mother I would be with such a disappointing role model myself. In fact, I had never visualized myself as a mom. The whole experience turned out to be an incredible lesson that eventually played a huge role in my decision to ditch my door mat persona. Mike didn't want to wear a condom because it "didn't feel good" and I, being the chump that I was, didn't want him to miss out on a moment of his pleasure. How could I be more concerned for his pleasure than my own health? I knew the ridiculous rate with which SFSU girls were being diagnosed at the Student Health Center with Venereal Warts—I mean I wrote about the shit for Christ sakes. That as probably why my self-deprecating choice was such an embarrassment to me.

When Mike found out I was pregnant, I became damaged goods and he was furious with me for not having an abortion. At the time, he feared I would ruin his life, but I assured him that I had no intention of burdening him with my baby. I did it all myself and never once asked for child support. I needed a clean break from Mike.

_If only I had the forethought to get him to sign away his parental rights at the time._

I never wanted Zephyr to experience the heartache of having a deadbeat parent. Looking at him now, I wonder if I made the right decision.

_Maybe I can't protect him from everything._

I snuggled my son for a few more minutes until he drifted to sleep. I kissed him goodnight and slipped out of the room. Trying not to focus on the conversation and the memories of Mike, I settled down on the couch with a cup of hot tea. I decided to check in with my laptop to see if I had any new emails since I'd last checked on Friday afternoon. I skimmed over the usual handful of emails from readers commenting on stories I'd written earlier in the week. Moving down the page my heart suddenly stopped for a second when I saw a message from Carlisle Cullen. I was surprised by the twinge of disappointment that the email hadn't come from his sexy son, Edward. The subject line read: Lunch meeting request for Wednesday.

_Oh, my fucking hell, this man isn't going to rest until he gets me fired. _

A wave of dread washed over me. I was antsy and waited impatiently for the message to open. My piece of crap wireless router had slowly been going to hell in a hand basket and I was thinking I would have to reboot to get the damn thing to load the page that held the message.

Miss Swan,

I would very much appreciate your company over lunch at my country club on Wednesday. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you and would like to discuss your future—perhaps one that could lead you to the _Seattle Enterprise. _You are entirely too tempting for me to allow you to continue to work for Aro and I would relish an opportunity to persuade you to see things my way.

Sincerely,

Carlisle Cullen

_Fuck. This shit just keeps getting better and better. _

I finished my tea and went to bed in a quandary over whether I should meet with Carlisle, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about him that made me think he was a predator. Well, that sinking feeling in my gut also had to do with the warning from Emmett. The situation was delicate and I had to not only turn Carlisle down gently, but I had to do it without alerting my publisher Aro.

_Jesus, especially not Aro. I can't afford to get fired for lack of loyalty in the little boy pissing contest these two are engaged in. _

Pissing contest was the best description I could come up with after working for the King County Reporter for all of five days. I was fairly certain that to Carlisle and Aro, the fight was an all out war. I just needed to figure out how to avoid ending up part of the spoils. I lay in bed for hours, devising a plan of action. Emmett would probably kill me for it, but I had a big story on Monday that could throw off Carlisle's little game of world domination, and Edward Cullen was going to help me get it.

* * *

His warm breath lingered on my neck and my breathing hitched when I felt his soft lips in the hollowed dip beneath my ear. His tongue and teeth massaged my earlobe and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that my panties were damp. I could faintly hear his sweet words penetrate me through the fog that enveloped us.

"Moooom," I heard, sharply breaking through my unconscious state. "Mom, did you buy any Captain Crunch when you were at the store yesterday? Please tell me that the Grapenuts in the cupboard isn't my only breakfast food option."

_Oh, for the love of fuck_. _Is nothing sacred?_

I moaned painfully and barely opened one eye. My vision was a bit blurry, obscured by the hair that had flopped down my forehead and was scattered all over my pillow. My son's morning breath was wafting dangerously close to my face. He was gearing up to ask the same question again, but I reached out and pressed my forefinger to his lips, stopping him before he could assault me with his breath again.

"Check the cabinet on the right, next to refrigerator," I said unceremoniously, and flopped my head back onto my pillow.

Zephyr scrambled out of the room in a flash, and before long I heard the cereal clink into his bowl. Rolling over, I made a conscious effort to try to slip back into my lovely dream. I could hear my son mumbling under his breath flipping through the channels trying to find cartoons. I made a mental note to sign up for cable. The Cartoon Network is a must-have in my book—especially if I wanted to sleep in on the weekends. A few minutes later I opened my eyes and pounded my fists and legs against the bed, throwing a mock tantrum over the unfortunate loss of a perfectly fabulous wet dream.

_Women just don't get that shit every day you know._

The tendrils of the dream were slipping away from me before I could figure out who I was dreaming about, when suddenly I got a clear visual of his piercing green eyes. They were oddly familiar, but in my haze I couldn't pinpoint who they belonged to.

I dragged my ass out of bed and got into the shower. I had a busy day ahead of me if I was planning on getting Zephyr registered for school in the morning. Finding his birth certificate was my first order of business.

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**A/N- Hmmm wonder who those green eyes belong to.... teehee. Edward is up next ladies so get your big girl panties, something tells me there is going to be some tension. Quick recommendations fer ya: If you haven't read The University of Edward Mason by SebastienRobichaud or High Anxiety by EdwardsBloodType or Emancipation Proclamation by kharizzmatik run don't walk to read them. They own me right now. Given my own love for angst, I should warn you that you should count on some angst coming down the pike for our Bella. She has a lot of baggage, but rest assured she has a bright future with lots of smexin ;) So don't be shy. Show me some love and press review. I will be forwarding teasers to everyone who reviews!**


	7. Chapter 6 She shoots

**A/N: SM owns the characters, not me. I never read these things at the beginning so I know you won't either. Onward and upward. Did someone say Edward?**

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**~Chapter 6 – She Shoots~**

**BPOV**

Zephyr's introduction to his new school went as smoothly as I could have hoped for. I told my editor, Marcus, that I would be a little late for work because of a morning appointment, so I had some wiggle room. Fortunately, we found Zeph's birth certificate on Sunday afternoon, moments before I lost my mind in panic. Afterward we ran to Target and found him a cool new backpack and some rain boots. The weatherman was predicting a few inches of rain this week and I wanted to be prepared.

Come Monday morning we were both a bundle of nerves. Between us, I think we tried on four different outfits before we finalized the day's ensemble. I settled on a knee-length, plaid, wool A-line skirt and white collared button down. Zeph proudly chose a green polo shirt to match his new green, frog-eyed rubber boots. I combed his hair while he brushed his teeth and felt my chest fill up with pride. Over the past few months, Zephyr had shed his chubby cheeks, growing out of his baby face. When I put a little gel in his hair to keep down the cowlick that had plagued him since birth, I looked in the mirror, and caught a glimpse into his future.

"You're going to be such a handsome man when you grow up," I said, setting down the comb.

"Yeah, I hope so, because Johnny said I was going to be a pansy," he said with a scrunched up brow. "Well actually he said I was a pansy and that I needed to man up if I wanted to play with him and his friends."

I groaned inwardly, recalling our neighbors in the San Francisco apartment building. The ones I had avoided for the past year. It was almost hard to blame the kid for his ruffian ways. Johnny was a product of his environment, and his environment was filled with poor influences. His dad had the mentality of a high school football star—turned electronics salesman. When he was younger he probably got by on sports prowess and good looks; but his bad boy days had caught up to him and now Johnny Sr. was a bona-fide loser. His wife, whose name escapes me, had bleach-blond hair, a snide attitude, and rarely left her apartment without her signature knock-off handbag.

In general, I tried to keep myself. I was not the kind of girl who made a habit of borrowing sugar and befriending neighbors. I preferred anonymity. Which, when I thought about it, was probably more a result of my contrasting public life as a reporter, than it was an ingrained personality trait.

Sadly, however, I never seemed able to retain my anonymity for very long. One fateful day last January, I was late taking out the garbage and ran into Johnny Sr. who was busy stuffing down the alcoholic evidence in his recycling container. My mumbled acknowledgment of his existence was apparently mistaken as brazen flirting, because he felt the need to accidentally/on purpose turn around mid-stride and body bump me on our return trip to the apartment building. I almost fell backwards in my hasty retreat from his pudgy gut, but he caught me and held me against him. To this day I have no idea what he said when his stale beer breath assaulted my senses because his wife heard the commotion in the hallway and opened the door just in time to witness his disgusting grope-fest. I used the diversion as an opportunity to escape back into my apartment; but not before I caught him give his wife a challenging smirk. From that day forward his bitch wife hated me and went out of her way to make my life miserable. Her getting even with me usually took the form of rude passing comments to my son and purposefully dinging my truck with her car door. She also developed an uncanny sense of timing and would vacuum and hammer on the walls just as I would try to fall asleep.

_Thank God we don't live in that hell hole anymore._

"Hellooo, Earth to mom. . ."

"Sorry, um, you know, a lot of times kids resort to name calling when they are trying to make them feel better about themselves. Don't let stuff like that bring you down," I said and knelt down to his level. "You're better than that."

"You're right, besides, there's nothing wrong with dress up tea parties," Zephyr said confidently as he switched off the bathroom light and walked out. I stood rooted to the bathroom floor with wide eyes for a moment wondering if I just heard him correctly.

"Uh, Zeph?" I said questioningly, following him back to the bedroom.

"Who were you playing dress up tea party with?"

"Oh, it was Madison Shenke, during free choice time in Ms. Townsend's class."

I knew my son could be a bit eccentric at times, but it concerned me that he spent his free time playing dress up. "So, you like dress up a lot then?" I asked, trying to keep a nonchalant tone to my voice.

"Nah, I prefer the Lego area, but if you want to play with the cute girls you gotta go where the girls are," he said, wiggling his brow.

"You stinker!" I snatched a pillow off his bed and knocked him over with it. It only took seconds to goad him into a pillow fight, but the fun came to a screeching halt when I realized he was going to mess up my hair.

"Alright, get your boots on, I have to check my hair and we need to get a move on if we are going to be on time for your first day of school."

I hustled back to my bedroom and checked on my hair. I had twisted it up into a clip and pulled a few wispy pieces down behind my ears. The 'do hadn't suffered major damage. I took the remaining large curlers out of my hair, at the base of my neck, and the pieces fell down over my collar. I pushed my long bangs behind my ear and finished it off with a little hairspray. I was planning to corner Edward Cullen for a story today and wanted to look fierce. I grabbed my tall brown boots out of the closet. Heels would probably be sexier, but the rain and my fear of falling required a sensible wardrobe. I took a turn in the mirror and winked at myself before walking out of the bedroom.

_Cullen isn't going to know what hit him._

* * *

I got to the office around 10 a.m. Unfortunately, there were two messages from Carlisle Cullen's secretary and the last one sounded kind of snippy. She had left it five minutes before I walked in the door.

"_Miss Swan, this is Marie, Mr. Cullen's secretary at The Seattle Enterprise. This is the third message we've left requesting your attendance for a lunch meeting at the Broadmoor Country Club. Please get back with me soon. Mr. Cullen has a busy schedule and I need to work in a few other appointments once this luncheon is confirmed_."

A few desks down I witnessed a stilted conversation between Jake and Rose that ended with clipped words, a death stare from Rose, and Jake stalking back to the photo desk. I erased the message and dug Edward Cullen's business card out of my briefcase. Knowing I would likely just get another snippy secretary, I passed over the phone number and typed in Edward's email address on my computer.

_Hopefully you read your own emails and remember me from the chamber dinner_.

I hit the send button and rather than twiddle my thumbs nervously waiting for the response, I called back Carlisle Cullen's secretary.

"Hello Marie? This is Isabella Swan. You left me a couple of messages earlier?"

"Oh, thank you for getting back with me," she replied.

"Well, unfortunately I am not able to make it for lunch today. I have a lot of work on my plate and I am not interested in a future at _The_ _Seattle Enterprise." _I spoke quietly in hopes that no one would overhear the conversation.

"I see. Mr. Cullen will likely not appreciate this news. He is used to getting what he wants."

"Yes, well, I am a busy woman Marie. Please tell him I said 'thank you' for the offer."

I turned around to hang up the phone and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Rose standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, with her jaw clenched in obvious anger. I hung up the phone and braced myself for Rose's wrath.

"I'm in need of a cup of coffee, Bella. And you are just the girl to buy it for me."

I bit my bottom lip and took a furtive glance around the newsroom to see if anyone noticed our exchange. Marcus was in the middle of a phone call with an angry reader and Jake was loading equipment into his bag. I reached into my desk drawer to grab my purse and stood up to follow Rose's lead.

"I guess you heard me on the phone, and I can explain." I started, before Rose cut me off.

"Save it. I have questions and you are going to provide me with some answers." I swallowed down my fear and nodded in response. No wonder Rose got such great stories, she took no prisoners. She scared the shit out of me and I just hoped she would listen to my explanation when I got the chance.

We walked down the street in silence, and within two blocks there was a Starbucks. Rose ordered a venti caramel macchiato with four shots and I stuck to my usual small mocha with whipped cream and paid the girl behind the register. She asked us if we wanted to try a sample of the new Starbucks instant coffee and I was about to decline when Rose piped up.

"So let me get this straight, you spend like 10 years convincing the entire world to chuck the shitty tasting instant coffee from a can, only to bring it back with a fancy logo and dress it up in a tea bag and we are just supposed to follow along like lemmings?"

Behind the counter, a second barista called out our drinks. Looking to rescue the poor cashier, who resembled a deer caught in headlights, I took Rose by the elbow, grabbed our drinks and left the girl a $5 tip.

"Jesus, Rose, you really need to get a grip. That kid makes minimum wage and does not deserve your abuse." I pulled out a chair for her, set down her coffee and took a seat across the table. Rose had raised her eyebrows expectantly, but followed suit. "Look, I don't know what you think you overheard in my phone conversation, but I had a run in with Carlisle Cullen at the Seattle Chamber of Commerce dinner Friday night. Somehow he got my email address and sent me a message over the weekend requesting my attendance at a country club lunch date this afternoon. What you _heard_ was my polite let down."

"Oh yeah? Because I overheard a reporter at the court house this morning say that there was fresh meat up for grabs at the _King County Reporter_ and Cullen was planning on stealing _her_ away. _You_ are the only fresh meat _Bella_, so excuse me if I jumped to conclusions when I heard you on the phone mentioning the _Enterprise," _Rose said with an exasperated sigh.

We sat in silence for a few moments staring at each other, before she continued. "I guess I _am_ a little paranoid. A few months ago, Cullen lured away our entire graphics department and I got stuck working the night shift for three fucking weeks laying out the sports section."

_Fucking tears. Great. Now she's gonna think I'm a pussy._

This was my absolute worst trait. Whenever I got really mad, I cried. I hated it with a passion.

I felt my anger dissipate and figured I would cut Rose some slack. "Look, my best friend works at T_he_ _Enterprise_. He put the idea in Cullen's head that I would be a valuable conquest. I knew that Emmett worked for a different Seattle newspaper when I was looking for work, but I wanted to get a job based on merit, not who I knew," I said.

I stopped berating myself and wiped my eyes. "_The Reporter_ was the only place that had a business writer position open and I needed a job. Please don't tell anyone, I just got Zephyr registered for school… I don't think I could bear to move him again."

I looked up at her from under my eyelashes and bit my lip, waiting for her to determine my fate. She seemed startled by my admission and appeared to be processing what I'd said.

"School–wait you have a kid?" she asked, not really waiting for an answer. She handed me another napkin to wipe my eyes and offered me an apology. "I guess I'm not a trusting person by nature. I've worked hard to get where I am and I just want to be on a winning team. I have no interest in screwing up your life, Bella." She reached across the table and took my hand in hers. The relief I felt at her gesture washed over me and I felt the flood gates that held back my tears, let loose.

"Me too, Rose. I need this job and my son needs some stability. If I ever plan to leave _The Reporter_, you'll be the first to know?"

"Alright, fair enough," she said, nodding. "C'mon let's get you cleaned up and get back to the office. I have a feeling Carlisle Cullen isn't accustomed to being told no and I have a sneaking suspicion that he isn't going to take it lightly." She stood up and pushed in her chair. "I think you are going to want to be in the newsroom when the shit hits the fan."

Lunch came without incident and I was hopeful that Rose had been wrong about Carlisle. I had waited for two hours for a return phone call from the public relations officer for Seattle Cycle Tours and I was starting to lose confidence in being able to get the story about Edward Cullen's business expansion. My anxiety was at an all time high, so I busied myself with rewriting business briefs and looking for a replacement story for Tuesday's edition.

My phone rang at 1:15.

The voice on the other end didn't even wait for my hello.

"Ms. Swan you have a delivery at the front desk," the secretary said.

"Alright, I'll be right down," I responded.

All the way down the elevator I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what the delivery could be. When I walked through the double doors of the main office and saw the giant bouquet of Asiatic lilies, I blanched. Sure enough, they were for me and sticking straight out of the vase was a card without an envelope that read: Bella Swan, so sorry you were not able to meet me for lunch today. It was signed Carlisle Cullen, _The Seattle Enterprise_.

* * *

The need to substantiate my loyalty to The King County Reporter story meant that I needed to up the voltage on my determination to get Edward Cullen to talk to me. It drove me across town and, like a marionette, I let it march me through the front doors and announce that I was there to see Mr. Cullen.

Confusion crossed the face of the secretary as she reopened his appointment book.

"I'm sorry, he has appointments all day and "Bella Swan" isn't in here anywhere. Did you get the day wrong, perhaps I can look under next week…?"

Lady luck was on my side because just then I saw him roll his bike through the front door of the office, sheathed in sweat.

"Cindy, I'm going to need you to call Jasper. I caught a flat along the water front and my ride took longer than I expec– " he stopped talking mid-sentence when he saw me standing there. With knitted brows Edward looked at me with a confused smile. "Miss Swan, right?"

_It's now or never_.

I offered him my best flirtatious smile and bit the inside of my cheek.

"Mr. Cullen. I was hoping to talk to you for a quick moment, could you fit me in?"

"Sure, um, give me a moment to get cleaned up. Cindy, show Ms. Swan into my office and hold my calls for the time being."

"What do you want me to tell Jasper, Mr. Cullen, your board meeting is in less than two hours?"

"Tell him I'm talking to beautiful woman," he answered, and shot me a mischievous grin. "He'll understand."

My knees went weak and I watched Edward down the hall. The man practically exuded sex and I took note of his large, muscular thighs and arms as he walked away from me. My fantasies that involved helping him clean up were interrupted by the secretary clearing her throat.

"Miss Swan?" Her eyebrows were raised and her expression was tinged with challenge. "Right this way."

I tapped my foot nervously and looked up at the clock. Two-thirty. I found myself focusing on the sound of the second hand whisking away my options. I had less than three hours to pull a rabbit out of my hat and my stomach was in knots. The office door opened and a freshly showered Edward Cullen came in and walked behind the desk.

"I'm not usually caught off guard, but I'll admit, I'm a little surprised by your visit, Miss Swan," he said, pouring a glass of water from the carafe at the corner of his desk. He was transformed and wearing freshly pressed, grey tweed pants, a white button down shirt, and a skinny black leather tie. He leaned back with his glass and took a long swig. I opened my mouth a little and licked my lips, imagining what he would taste like. My momentary distraction with his mouth did not go unnoticed.

"So, I'm flattered—really, but if you were hoping for a date, you could have just called."

My inner feminist roared and jolted me out of my sex-induced stupor.

"Well, Mr. Cullen, I hate to rain on your parade, but I am here on business. I did call, three times actually and I couldn't wait any longer. At the chamber dinner the other night you mentioned your expansion and plan to go public, and I'd like to be the one to write the story."

His amusement faltered, but Edward narrowed his eyes. I could tell that behind his suave demeanor he was a shrewd businessman. "You do realize that if I needed publicity, I have an entire media conglomerate at my finger tips. Why would I allow you to write the story?"

"Because, Mr. Cullen, when it comes to writing these types of stories, I'm the best. If your father's newspaper ran the story it would look contrived, manipulative. Even your PR department would have to admit that having your father's competition run the story would be more likely to capture the hearts and minds of the business community, by the sheer virtue of it being legitimate news." I realized that sometime during my soap box tirade I stood up and had assumed an aggressive stance. Edward seemed to like it, because rather than shy away from me, he walked around to the front of the desk.

My breath caught when he reached out and rubbed my cheek bone with the side of his forefinger.

"You're sure that is all you're looking for, Miss Swan?"

I blinked and pushed aside the arousal that threatened to betray me and my irritation flared.

"Are you and your Dad tag teaming or something? Well, if you were hoping for some sort of pervy three-way thing, you can just forget it. I'll quit my job first. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Cullen."

Edward got to the door before me and held it shut. "Will you just stop and shut up for minute? Look, I'm not interested in starting a war with my father over this expansion, but that is where it ends. What are you talking about, a three-way? Far be it for me to turn down an adventure, but I am certainly not one for sharing–especially not when it's my cheating, bastard father." His jaw and fists clenched.

* * *

I made my way around the newsroom, noting the already wilting monstrosity in the trash can next to my desk. I checked my messages before making my way to my editor's desk.

"Marcus, are you busy?"

His expression was guarded. After spending an hour with him and in my managing editor's office explaining _why_ I had received flowers from our arch rival, I assured Marcus that I could get the story I needed from Edward.

"Well?" he asked, expectantly.

"It'll be in your inbox within the hour." I smiled.

He shook his head with a chuckle and smiled out of the side of his mouth. "Well I'll be damned, girl. You've got gumption. Folks," he called out to the newsroom. "Pass Bella the rubber chicken. She's earned it."

I felt my face heat up when 30 sets of eyes settled on me, yet somehow I managed to make my way back without making a fool of myself. Rose looked up from her vigorous typing to give me the thumbs up.

"Way to go, Bella. I knew you had it in ya."

Even on the drive to pick up Zephyr from his after school program, I couldn't find it in me to wipe the shit eating grin off my face. The rest of our night was fairly uneventful. After Zeph fell asleep, I stayed up late to decompress from my day. Between my confrontations with Rose and Edward and almost losing my job, I had been through the ringer. Trying to get my mind off of the day's events, I researched a few story leads and caught the latest online issue of the Christian Science Monitor.

At precisely one a.m. I yawned, trying to keep my eyes open long enough to read the day's _Reporter _load on my computer screen. The copy desk put the paper to bed at midnight and, like clockwork, the issue was live on the Internet an hour later. I could almost feel the loud hum of the presses that I knew was reverberating through newsroom at that moment.

Sure enough, third story from the top was a photograph of the devastatingly beautiful Edward Cullen. _God, even in pictures he is pretty._

The headline screamed 'scoop' and read: **Seattle Cycle Tours expansion launches Cullen corporation on NYSE**.

_Eat your heart out, Carlisle Cullen_.

* * *

**A/N**: K. I know it has been too long since my last post. However, I'm back, and plan to be more diligent with the updates. In the meantime, hop on over to my profile and check out the steamy one-shot I wrote last week titled **Courthouse Candy**. Next chapter of NW will bring us a glimpse of the infamous Carlisle Cullen. Also want to give a shout out to my beautiful and talented Beta Mopstyle. She has a fabulous angsty Jasper/Bella story I'm loving right now called **Into Strangers** and I am also currently fangirling over **Beautiful, Dirty, Rich** by Kiki Blue and **Devil's Angel** by Obsessing Over Edward. If you want a teaser of my next chapter, leave me a review!


	8. Chapter 7 She Scores

**A/N: As always, SMeyer owns the characters, I own Newspaper Wars. Thank you to my beta Mopstyle. She had a rough week, but she is okay and all her smutty friends breathed a collective sigh of relief. We love you, bb.**

* * *

**~Chapter 7 – She Scores~**

I awoke just after six a.m. on Tuesday morning and felt like I'd barely had a nap. Despite my ending the day reveling in the glory of my scoop, that deep satisfying sleep that usually followed eluded me. None of the details of my dreams chased me into dawn, but I had the overwhelming sense that they were unsettling. I whimpered, climbing out of my warm bed and walked straight to the bathroom to prepare for my day.

As I showered, I relished the rivulets of water streaming onto my face and down my body as they massaged me back to life. For a moment the sensory experience lulled me into the memory of Emmett and I on the living room floor. _Oh God, I was so horny again_. I needed to feel like that again, and soon.

_But definitely not with Emmett. Emmett._

It had slipped my mind that he texted me yesterday to ask if Zeph and I would be willing to have dinner with him. He said he knew a great place for burgers. At the time, I hadn't even had the energy to acknowledge the message. Now that I had time to reflect, I was relieved. I have worried about our friendship and this was the first contact he had made since our romp on the rug.

I dried off, slipped my arms through the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and padded down the hall to wake up Zephyr. To my surprise he woke up easily and seemed excited to get to school. He seemed to enjoy his first day and had already made a few friends. He was chatty over his Cheerios and told me about his friend Alex.

"Well, I was nervous about PE because the teacher designated captains for a soccer scrimmage and we had to be picked," he said with his mouth full. "But Alex picked me and I wasn't even last. It was cool."

I hurried through my coffee and grabbed some toast to go, so I had time to get myself ready. Today was one of those rare days where I walked into work without the benefit of knowing what stories I would write. It was unnerving for me and I automatically reached for some comfortable clothes to soothe me. I settled on some black trousers and a blue sweater, but dressed it up with some low heels. Thankfully, I got Zephyr to the bus stop in time so I could make it to work on time.

Anxious barely touched on the skittish emotions roaming around my belly as I walked through the double doors of the newspaper at eight o'clock. The possibility of backlash from Carlisle and his competing paper had me on edge. Would the Enterprise follow up on my story tomorrow? If past experience was any indicator, probably not. Most papers avoided the gossip of being obviously scooped by waiting a week, finding another angle and pretending it was theirs in the first place.

_The Enterprise_ was an unknown entity though, not unlike myself. I was the new kid; the ink barely dry on my business cards. I hated not knowing what to expect. The very thought of distracting Carlisle from Aro and drawing attention to myself left a bad taste in my mouth. It's true that I chose a story based primarily on the knowledge that it would embarrass the competition. I wasn't a shrinking violet by any stretch of the imagination, but I always wanted the limelight to fall on the subjects in my stories—never myself.

On the way to my desk I passed Lauren's office, I recalled our conversation yesterday and heaped it onto my morning pile of issues. Lauren, our managing editor, had limp blond hair and blue eyes, but her pointy nose and sharp tongue elevated my fear factor. As soon as Carlisle and _The Enterprise_ were mentioned, I quickly launched into my explanation surrounding the flowers and Carlisle's declined offer for employment.

I explained to Lauren and Marcus that the story I had in the works would likely convince Carlisle that I wasn't up for grabs. I was lucky. They could have fired me on the spot. Instead they listened to my explanation. I didn't know for certain, but I think that Rose may have vouched for me. I needed to do something nice for her, but what? By some magical turn of events, I earned the newsroom rubber chicken trophy. The whole thing perplexed me.

_Still, I like having the chicken._

From what I understood, most newsrooms had them. My last office had large, generic-brand can of chicken noodle soup. Some little token your colleagues unceremoniously bestowed for the reporter who landed an amazing story or went above and beyond the call of duty to get the scoop. Usually, it just embarrassed me in front of my peers.

_I wonder if the chicken theme is universal, or coincidence?_ _Journalists are such nerds._

I made a point to Google it and smiled at the yellow, wiggly legs propped precariously on the top of my computer monitor. Someone from the night desk had apparently thought it would be funny to tape a photo of Edward on its face. I giggled out loud.

"Hey chica, good shit here," Rose called from her desk, holding up a copy of the day's issue of the King County Reporter. She had startled me a little, I knew there were other people in the room, but my inner conversation had shrouded my senses.

"Thanks," I said, shyly. I got up and made my way over to her desk. "I've been meaning to ask you something, Rose."

She narrowed her eyes curiously and leaned back in her chair. "Shoot."

I looked around the newsroom to make sure no one was within earshot. "I get the feeling that Lauren is pretty harsh when she wants to be, at the very least she doesn't look kindly on the possibility of defection. I guess the secretary downstairs read the card on those flowers and I was barely back to my desk before being hauled off to explain myself. Did you have anything to do with my being let off with a warning?"

"Yeah, well, just don't let it get around the newsroom. It would mar my already perfect reputation as a hard ass," she said, grinning. "I just knew that if I could find out about Carlisle's hope to steal you away, then Lauren would too. I told her over lunch a few of the things you shared with me. Not the part about your kid, but I spilled on what he said to you in the email and what I overheard of your phone conversation with his secretary. It wouldn't be fair for you to take the fall for something you didn't do. 'Sides, I was serious about avoiding your fucking beat like the plague. I won't be stuck writing that shit again, and I may have said something to that effect to Lauren."

I laughed, but my mood darkened immediately when the implications of a conversation like that dawned on me. "Rose, you have balls of solid steel. I have a feeling that went over poorly. Regardless of how it turned out this morning," I said, pointing at the paper on the desk in front of her. "I'm not comfortable with you sticking your neck out for me like that. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"This paper needs me, Bella, and if they don't like me speaking my mind, then they can find someone else to cover my beat," she said, getting her back up. "They can't fucking do any better than me, and they damn well know it."

She was right. Rose was a rock star and she was young and energetic to boot. She could work anywhere. "Well, thanks."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it for you, sweet tits," she said with a wink, putting her headset on in preparation for making her morning beat phone calls.

I shook my head and smiled at her and headed back to my desk. Rose _was_ a hard ass, but she had let her wall down for me. Even if it was just a little bit. This business isn't easy, but I realized I had just made my first new friend since I'd crossed over the King County line. My curtain of funk slowly lifted and I started up the computer. My first order of business was to read the competition. A little piece of me was still nervous that the _The Enterprise_ had been tipped off and got wind of the Cullen prodigy expansion.

Nothing. Today's business page was lead by fluff. I rolled my eyes at the 55th anniversary of the bakery chain they ran. For a city like Seattle there were copious opportunities for quality business news. They did run a quarterly report from a local bank, reporting updates on their repayment of the stimulus-generated federal TARP funds. I had received that press release earlier this week as well, but there was nothing surprising so I held it to run as a brief later in the week.

I opened up my own copy of our paper on my desk and traced my finger over Edward's face. As obnoxious as I found Jake to be, he had an inalienable talent for capturing the essence of people in his photographs. His impish grin. His sex hair. The look in his eyes that made you feel… special—almost like you were privy to the inside joke roaming around in that pretty head of his. I knew that Edward had an insane schedule yesterday, yet he found the time to allow me to have art run with my story. For a reporter, securing art, or photographs, was half the battle. A perfectly strong news story could be buried in the B section if you didn't find a way to provide the designers on the night desk a way to lay out the pages attractively. For layout designers, long stretches of gray copy was the kiss of death. Frequently, nothing longer than the length of a dollar bill is read.

_Why did you do this for me, Edward? _I silently asked him. _Why did he allow me to embarrass his dad?_

He was so angry yesterday when I mentioned Carlisle.

_My breath caught when he reached out and rubbed my cheek bone with the side of his forefinger._

"_You're sure that is all you're looking for, Miss Swan?" _

_I blinked and pushed aside the arousal that threatened to betray me and my irritation flared._

"_Are you and your Dad tag teaming or something? Well, if you were hoping for some sort of pervy three-way thing, you can just forget it. I'll quit my job first. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Cullen."_

_Edward got to the door before me and held it shut. "Will you just stop and shut up for minute? Look, I'm not interested in starting a war with my father over this expansion, but that is where it ends. What are you talking about, a three-way? Far be it for me to turn down an adventure, but I am certainly not one for sharing–especially not when it's my cheating, bastard father." His jaw and fists clenched. _

_The anger rolling off him was palpable and I was grateful to not be the object of his scorn. However, I was incredibly effective at bringing it bubbling to the surface. I wanted to calm him down. I wanted to smooth that creased spot between his heavy brows. After I get the story._

_I let go of the door knob and turned around to face Edward, painfully aware of his close proximity. His left arm leaned against the door above my head. My breathing hitched and I felt a little drunk on the increased pace at which my pumping heart surged blood into my veins._

"_So, you'll do the story?" I asked, quietly._

_He bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating my request. I could almost see the wheels turn as he weighed the ramifications of the decision in his head. Edward's green eyes settled on mine. They were guarded._

"_Only if you'll tell me why… why is this story so important to you that you would barge into my office and ask this of me, knowing it would put me in a difficult position?"_

_I was embarrassed. Normally, I used gentler, friendlier tactics to entice a story subject. I had been so focused on clearing my name at work, proving my worth and getting back at Carlisle for casting me in a suspicious light, that I hadn't even considered the beautiful man that stood before me. Edward had reason to be guarded. I was a menace._

_I sighed and swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. "You're right. Can we sit down? I can… I need to explain."_

_I'm not sure what he expected, but his eyes softened a bit. Edward motioned for me to sit on the couch situated in the corner of the office. I set my bag on the floor and my hands fiddled nervously with the hem of my skirt. He placed himself at the opposite end, on the edge of the seat, and waited for me to continue._

_First, I reminded him that I was new to the King County Reporter. I relayed the conversation I'd had with Carlisle in front of my editor and Aro at the chamber dinner, and the follow up email exchange and conversation with Carlisle's secretary. _

"_I have a friend who works there and he—in a moment of lunacy—suggested to your dad that I was a solid reporter and would be an asset to the competition. I found this out less than an hour before I was introduced to Carlisle. Who knows, maybe all of this was my friend's fault…" I said, frustrated._

"_By the afternoon, he had sent a gaudy flower arrangement to me at the newspaper with an open, attached note that sent my editors reeling and questioning my loyalty to the company," I explained, still staring at the hem of my skirt. "He almost got me fired, Edward. Look, I'm sorry to drag you into this but I need this job." My voice squeaked a little. This was the most humiliating experience I've had to endure in recent history. It was going to take a lot of booze to scrub this memory from my brain._

_At least I didn't cry._

"_Some friend," he said with a humph. _

"_Tell me about it, I could kill him for sicking Carlisle on me," I said, getting worked up all over again. _

_Edward's grimace turned to a smirk and he said, "Well, I wouldn't spend too much time worrying about it. Carlisle doesn't need much convincing when it comes to sticking it to Aro, or erm… making a move on an attractive woman. Particularly if he can accomplish both in one fell swoop."_

_He thinks I'm pretty, I thought. My inner Aphrodite did a happy dance. I cut the festivities short. I was on deadline for Christ sake. _

"_When you told me about your expansion at the chamber dinner on Friday, I immediately thought it would make a great Seattle success story. When your father embarrassed me… I—I wanted to embarrass him back I guess," I stuttered. "What could be more embarrassing than finding out about your son's success on the front page of your competitor's paper?"_

_I looked up at him expecting a tongue lashing. Instead he was had a slight, sideways smile._

"_Are you always this disarmingly honest, Miss Swan?" He squinted at me in curiosity. _

_He didn't wait for my response. Edward sat back in his seat and lifted his long tie away from his body, before smoothing it over his chest. My eyes followed it down his chest, to where it fell just below his belt. _

_Jesus. Focus, Swan._

_My eyes snapped to his and I could see the glint return to his eyes. They were littered with flecks of brown, blue and gold._

_He was mesmerizing and obviously used to open staring._

_Without explanation or pretense he offered up a gift. "Alright, Miss Swan. What do you want to know?"_

I cut my "clip" from the newspaper and wondered if I'd sufficiently expressed my gratitude to him. One thing was certain, Edward Cullen was a conundrum. All I usually needed was an hour, a few well thought out questions and, from there, I let my instincts guide me to the heart of a story. But yesterday it felt like every question I asked led to three more. The story was about a confident young man who skipped out on his family's dream of manning the helm of their media conglomerate, so he could bike across Europe after college. For a year he lived the nomadic life of a Gypsy, traveling from one country to the next, searching for what type of a future his business education would buy him.

His story wasn't unusual, but for a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth, it was a rite of passage. He wanted to find his own way. When he returned to the states, Edward went to work for the giant Seattle sporting goods store, REI, and managed sales in the cycling department. His college buddy, Jasper Whitlock, managed the backpacking and hiking section and helped him get the job. Seeing the need for more local touring opportunities, the pair joined forces to form what eventually became Seattle Cycle Tours. Six years later, their entrepreneurial pursuit led them to their current expansion. The plan was to expand the company to cater to tourist interest in guide-led summer hikes and backpacking trips at Mount Rainier, and in the Olympic National Park—primarily around the Ho Rainforest. To fund the expansion of the company, Edward and his partner had retained the majority of shares but would sell off the remainder on the open market.

The prospectus had been circulating the local investment banker circuit and, I announced in the story, the stocks were now available on the New York Stock Exchange. For small businesses, this was a huge and scary leap of faith. Once you went public, it was like you let a piece of yourself go. Investors are hungry—greedy even—for a get rich quick opportunity. Once you opened the flood gates and accepted their money, they owned you, and had the capacity to sell you down the river if growth didn't click along at a steady pace. For Seattle Cycle Tours, the ability to pay down debt and invest in new equipment and a larger fleet of vans to carry bikes, equipment, and passengers to trail heads was a necessity.

Since opening, the company had enjoyed a breakneck growth pace of twenty percent per year. It had become an unwieldy beast, outgrowing its infrastructure. For the city, it meant an influx of money and new jobs. In the current, negative-growth job market, it was a great success. Most importantly, it was a positive story in a sea of negativity, meant to bring hope to weary, desensitized readers.

_And If it means I served up a resounding 'fuck you' to Carlisle, then all the better._

I was still nervous, but Rose's support and some reflection left me feeling better. I got up the nerve and turned on my computer. Every reporter knows it's the emails that dealt the real blows. The little bit of anonymity that emails provided seemed to make it easier for people to lash out at journalists. I hated coming down off a big story only to be brow beat by the public. I also received positive emails. Unfortunately my personality precluded my ability to internalize the good and so, instead, I focused on the bad.

My Outlook indicated I had seventy-five new emails this morning. It was a pretty average morning, actually. I skimmed through the usual press releases and junk mail, before settling on something from someone named Tanya Denali. The subject line read "Disappointed in today's coverage."

I cringed and considered deleting it, but curiosity got the better of me.

Miss Swan,

Pitting my CEO, Edward Cullen, against his own father to sell newspapers is perhaps the most reprehensible form of journalism I have yet to encounter. For whatever reason, he made the decision to meet with you, without my approval. The next time you set foot in my building, be sure you have my express written permission.

Sincerely,

Tanya Denali

Public Relations Director

Seattle Cycle Tours Co.

A little piece of my happiness fluttered away. I wondered if Edward was unhappy with the story. I was still embarrassed about how it all went down and too chicken shit to call him and ask. A sudden realization that I may never see Edward Cullen again, particularly given the hostility of his PR director, depressed me.

Going back through the emails, I saw something had come through from Emmett a few minutes ago. I had forgotten that Em might fall amongst the ranks of "dissatisfied readership." I needed to get accustom to the fact that during business hours, Emmett is the enemy. The subject line read "Cullen story."

_Et tu Brute?_

Hey, hot stuff,

Thanks to you, the Enterprise staff is scrambling to stay out of the line of fire today. Carlisle is like a fire-breathing dragon, throwing stuff around the newsroom. I also may have earned an extra weekend shift by reminding him that I warned him about you, ha, ha… Lot of good it did me. No more kicking our proverbial asses, K, beyotch? I have a strict hoes before bros policy, but I have rankled our fearless leader so if you call here to talk to me, save me an ass chewing and use your play name.

We still on for dinner?

Em

Emmett McCarty

Sports Editor

The Seattle Enterprise

Hitting reply, I set about making sure Emmett knew where I stood.

Emmett McCarty,

Where do you get off calling me a beyotch and ho? For a man who recently had the pleasure of pleasuring me, I would think you would be a bit more careful in your assessment of me. As far as Carlisle is concerned, you made your bed. Lie in it. Oh, and of course we are still on for dinner. Zephyr has been eating like a pig lately and you're buying. I wouldn't dream of letting you off that easy.

Luv you,

Bella

Isabella Swan

Business Editor

The King County Reporter

Within five minutes, Emmett responded.

Bella,

As long as you don't kick me in the nads when you answer the door, I will pick you and Zeph up around seven.

Luv you too,

Em

Emmett McCarty

Sports Editor

The Seattle Enterprise

_He didn't even apologize. Shit head. He probably didn't even wince at my handing him his ass._

I'm not sure if it was because he ruffled my feathers or if it was the "kick in the nads" comment that made me think of Rose, but suddenly I knew exactly how to repay Rose for her help and how to make Emmett squirm for his disrespectful slip. I texted Em and told him something came up and that we'd meet him at the restaurant instead.

The little devil on my shoulder chortled a nasty 'muahaha.' Getting through the day suddenly became less of a chore. I was looking forward to tonight, which meant I needed to get through the work day to get there. I dove back into my inbox to rustle up stories for tomorrow's issue.

* * *

**A/N: Monster AN warning… So, Carlisle didn't make the appearance I'd previously planned, but I figured you'd like to know a little more about what happened with Edward. What did you think of Bella letting down her guard with him? It's funny, but frequently in journalism you have to share a little of yourself to get people to open up and tell their story. Trust is a two-way street and a source needs to understand your intent and when so much is at stake, particularly for Edward in this case, it's a calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless. Bella tried to make up for her transgression by helping Edward advertise his sale. We'll find out in the next chapter if she did that. Oh, and you may have noticed the title "She Scores." Hopefully you will forgive my little innuendo and take comfort in the knowledge that she scored with her story and soon enough she will "score" elsewhere. Leave me a review and I'll send you a teaser. Ciao for now.**


	9. Chapter 8 Boom Boom Pow

A/N: As always, SMeyer owns the characters, I own Newspaper Wars. Thank you to my charming beta Mopstyle. I won't bore you on the details, but rest assured I am so sorry for the lagging post schedule. My buddies Detka and Revrag prodded me with a pitchfork to get my ass in gear. Big love to all my Wide Awake Rehab buddies.

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**~Chapter 8 – Boom, Boom, Pow~**

**~BPOV~**

Rose wasn't easy to convince to come to dinner with me, especially when she heard I was meeting up with my friend, Emmett. Her curiosity about Zephyr tipped the scales in my favor and, after a long and decidedly uneventful day, we made our way out of the building and hopped into my truck.

"Wow Bella, this is a classic, and not at all what I expected you to drive." She eyeballed me, like she was trying to figure me out. "How did I not notice this beast in the parking lot before?"

I shrugged and tossed my bag to the center of the bench seat. "I used to drive an old Honda Civic when I was in San Francisco, but it had like three hundred thousand miles on it. Everything started going wrong though, so I sold it to a neighbor to help pay for the move." I started up the truck and briefly reminisced about the cheap gas situation with the Honda, I did miss that part. "This baby," I said patting the dash, "was a gift from my dad."

"Huh, well, it's old and a little funky but if you had some body work done and a slick paint job this would be pretty cool," she said.

I, for one, thought my truck was cool and decided right there that the funk factor added to its character. I wasn't the kind of girl that spent her time fantasizing about winning the lottery and buying a fancy car, or a house in Florida. I mean, I never even bought lottery tickets—how the fuck would I win? I am practical, and people who flirt with fantasy only ended up depressed with their station in life.

_Who has time for that shit?_

My current favorite song came floating though the airwaves and I turned up the radio as I pulled out of _King County's_ maze-like parking lot.

"Have you heard this? Skinny Love?" I asked.

"I don't think so, who's it by?"

"His name is Bon Iver," I said above the din. "I love him like a fat kid loves cake."

She laughed and I started singing along, because when I hear him I can't help it.

"_Come on skinny love just last the year  
Pour a little salt we were never here  
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my  
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer_

I tell my love to wreck it all  
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall  
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my  
Right in the moment this order's tall

I told you to be patient  
I told you to be fine  
I told you to be balanced  
I told you to be kind  
In the morning I'll be with you  
But it will be a different "kind"  
I'll be holding all the tickets  
And you'll be owning all the fines"

Rose either grew weary of my song choice or my singing because she turned it down.  
"Fuck," she said. "You listen to depressing music."

"Not always, I just love the way he makes me feel. Bon Iver is fuck hot with that voice and a guitar."

"Humph, well he makes me want to drink myself into oblivion so let's try to keep the crooning to a minimum tonight please. It's only Tuesday and I have a long week of waking up hangover-free ahead of me."

I pulled up to Zephyr's school and Rose followed me into the string of portable buildings on the opposite side of the playground from the school where the afterschool program was housed. A girl in her early twenties with pink hair, various facial piercings and a school lanyard heavily laden with keys plucked her Walkie-talkie from her pocket when she saw me.

"Carlos, could you send Zephyr Swan inside to get his backpack, his mom is here for pick up."

Rose snorted a laugh under her breath. "Hopefully your kid isn't subjected to many of these types of examples."

I cringed and hoped like hell the pink-haired pin cushion was hard of hearing. I gave Rose a dirty look and walked over to sign Zephyr out. When I wasn't looking, Zephyr barreled through the door and nearly knocked me over when he grabbed me around the hips. "Mom!"

I finished what I was doing and pried his arms from my body and turned around squatted so we were eye level. "Hey baby, how was your day?" I swept a sweaty chunk of hair out of his eyes and smiled at him.

"Mom, Alex asked me to come to his birthday party this weekend. It's a roller skating party. Can I go?"

"I guess so, but you've never skated before. That could be dangerous." His interest in dangerous activities was surprisingly innate, but I was so relieved that he had made a friend. Nothing I could do but buy extra health insurance. The kid was absolutely fearless.

"Nah, if Carly can do it, I can do it. Anything a girl can do, I can do."

"Looks like you've got a budding chauvinist here Bella," Rose said with smirk.

I could tell from his body language that Zeph had no idea what chauvinist meant, but he was fairly certain it wasn't complimentary. "Who are you?" he asked with a bit of an attitude. His brows were creased, he was sizing her up. It was likely that her answer would definitively place her in the friend or foe category and I braced myself for her response.

"I am Rose and I work with your mom at the newspaper," she said holding her hand out to shake it like she was talking to an adult. She squinted her eyes at Zeph like she was eying him up. "I really like her and when I heard she had a little man waiting for her at home, I knew I wanted to meet you. So what are you, ten?"

He pursed his lips like he knew she was bullshitting him. "Nine."

I cleared my throat reminding him that I was there and threw him a reprimanding mom look.  
"Alright, I'm almost eight," he said with a mischevious grin. "But everyone says I act like I'm nine."

I bumped him with my hip to push him toward the coat rack to coax him to grab his pack and jacket. Rose held the door for us and we walked out to the truck together. It was a rare, clear night in Seattle and though it wasn't quite dusk, you could see the sky darken with orange and red highlights along the horizon. I took a deep, cleansing breath and grabbed my keys out of my jacket.

"You know, I pinch-hit for my girlfriend's roller derby team sometimes, maybe I could give you some pointers on skating sometime?"

With that, Rose cinched it and passed muster. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas and he hopped into the car, happily relinquishing his normal seat to his new buddy Rose.

"Really? Sweet. See Mom, Rose can help me."

On the way to the apartment to clean up before dinner, Rose had to clear up the confusing mention of pinch-hitting. Zephyr was concerned there was some sort of baseball element to skating he was previously unaware of. We had some time to kill before we had to meet Emmett, so I poured us a glass of wine once we arrived at our place. We kicked off our heels and grumbled a little about our day.

Aside from my little drama, Rose had some of her own. She had been covering a disturbing case involving a car wreck that killed a nine-year-old little girl who was also a twin. Two boys, ages eighteen and nineteen were speeding and harassing one another, playing chicken on a back road outside of Seattle in January. In their supreme stupidity they inadvertently ran a minivan off the road which resulted in the girl's death. The mother of the girl also suffered major injuries, but survived.

"The trial has been brutal. I don't think I've ever been on a case that affected me more, honestly. And I've covered some grisly murders in my short time on this beat. I don't know, the boys drove like assholes, but—for both of them—their lives are essentially over. The DA is going to be successful in his aggravated manslaughter charges and those boys are going to spend the next twelve years of their lives in prison. Other than driving like idiots one sunny afternoon in January, neither of them had ever done a goddamn thing wrong in their lives. It's such a waste."

"God, Rose, your job sucks," I whispered. Zephyr was playing in his room and this was the last conversation that I wanted him to overhear. He never really knew my mom, but her death really affected him. He asked me questions about death, dying and the afterlife for weeks. Truthfully, I wasn't prepared to answer those questions for myself, let alone my son.

"Yep, pretty much," she said, raising her glass of wine in a mock toast to the suckiness. "I normally pride myself on not letting that stuff get to me, but that car wreck destroyed three families. The parents of the girl are getting a divorce and are practically bankrupt from all of the medical bills. The mother might be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, the twin has been to three different shrinks since the accident… It's just so damn sad. The worst part, for me at least, has been that one of the boys is from Jake's reservation."

"What? Cocky photo editor Jake?"

"Same. He flat out refused to go to the county courthouse to take the boys pictures last week and so I had to fucking go back there and do it myself. As if listening to everyone cry all day during their testimony wasn't bad enough."

"Jesus, I had no idea. Poor Jake," I said.

"Poor Jake my ass, he had stringers he could have called in to take the photos so he didn't have to do it himself. He was pissed because he didn't want me to _run_ the defendants' photos in the paper, and I don't care who they are, I can't _do_ that. If the _Seattle Enterprise_ is going to run it, I'm going to run it."

"The whole thing sounds like shit. I don't care what you say, Rose, my beat is waaay better."

I heard Zephyr ambling down the hall, effectively ending the morbid conversation. "Hey honey, what's up?"

"Mom, I'm _starving_. Is it time for dinner yet?" He enunciated his words with a dramatic flair. He was so stinking cute standing there with his hair sticking up all over the place, exasperated by our dinner schedule.

I quirked a brow at his display, despite the snack he'd had less than an hour ago.  
"I guess we could head to the restaurant."

"Yay. Do you think Emmett will bring that Chewbacca action figure he got on He Bay?"

I laughed and ruffled his hair. Sometimes I marveled at his innocence. "That's Ebay, squirt, and when it comes to Em, your guess is as good as mine."

On our way to the truck, Rose hit me between the eyes with the question I was least prepared to answer. "So, Bella, this friend of yours, Emmett—what's his story? Are you two an item or what?"

I ducked and dug out the middle seatbelt from the craptastic bench seat of the truck for Zephyr, hoping to avoid Rose's discerning gaze. She caught a glimpse of my reddened cheeks and pursed her lips and nodded at me knowingly. I cleared my throat and I tried to disguise my answer so that Zeph would remain clueless to the whole "boinking-the-best-friend" fiasco.

"Um, Em and I are just friends. I've known him nearly half my life and while we may have…um crossed the line in the past. I can assure you that we are only friends."

"Hey, I'm not sitting on a throne in judgment; I was just curious about what I'm walking into here."

"Don't get me wrong, he is a great guy, but—he's never going to be more than a friend," I said.

She snorted. "Who you tryin' to convince Bella, me or you?" I shot Rose a warning look, and she held her hands up like she wasn't going to press any further. "So let me get this straight, this guy is a sports loving man-child who works for the competition?" she asked with a slight sneer.

"Mom, what's a man-child?" Zephyr piped in.

I had made it to Highland Park and was frantically looking for Zippy's Giant Burgers. I needed to get out of the cab of the truck before Rose touched on any more sensitive topics. I saw Emmett leaning up against the rear bumper of his car, his MUSCLMN license plate on full display. Rose rolled her eyes at me with a look that read 'Just what I figured.'

I turned off the truck and purposely parked a bit away from Emmett so he wouldn't happen upon the ass chewing I was about to serve up. "Alright, time out," I said, putting the beast in park. "Zeph, a man-child is a man who hasn't quite grown up all the way yet. And yes, your uncle Em would probably fall into that category. But he is also the best friend a person could have. He is honest, smart, loyal and funny as hell. He would stop at nothing to be there for someone who needed him and I'll be damned if I will tolerate anyone saying anything to contrary. Capice?"

I didn't wait for a response from Rose before I hopped out and helped Zeph. He hit the ground running and made it across the parking lot at warp speed with full intent to try and tackle Emmett. I crossed in front of the truck and opened Rose's door. I raised my eyebrows, looking for some semblance of understanding from her.

"Capice," she said. It was noncommittal, but respectful. That was all I could ask for at this point. She scooted off the seat setting her sassy, red, patent leather peep-toe Jimmy Choos on the pavement.

I smiled over to Emmett who had made it to the front door of the restaurant and was waiting for us to join him. But his eyes found Rose and even from 30 paces I could tell his mouth was slightly open.

_C'mon Em, close your mouth. Can't you see I am trying to convince Rose you aren't a fucking caveman. _

I had to hand it to Rose though. The way she sashayed to the door, you'd think her own theme music was playing in the background. I could almost hear Fergie's voice ring through Rose's clicking heels.

"I like that boom, boom, pow  
Them chickens jackin' my style  
They try to copy my swagger  
I got that next shit now"

I shook off the tune, but chuckled under my breath as I caught up to Rose before we got to the door.

"How the fuck do you afford those shoes on a reporter's salary?" I asked through my teeth, keeping my smile for Emmett.

"Jealous much?"

I laughed and hip checked Rose before we got to the door so that I was in front of Emmett and could introduce her properly. "This here, Emmett, is my friend Rose from the _King County Reporter_. Careful, her claws are sharp."

"Oh well, that's just fine. A little milk and some rubbing behind the ears is all I usually need to reduce a tiger to a purring kitty." Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.

Rose was clearly caught off guard because she hesitated for a moment, absent her normally quippy remark.

"Down boy," I took over holding the glass door and ushered the pair inside. I purposely cut her off before she had a chance to lay into Emmett. "Rose isn't your average kitty, and she isn't so keen on your working for the enemy, so let's keep the casual banter to a minimum until she warms up, K?"

I got up to the counter and rescued Zephyr from a hot waitress pinching his cheeks. His ruddy face revealed a disturbing grin that was both sheepish and appreciative of the attention. Emmett jumped into the fray and grabbed him by the elbow, whispering something that deepened the red in his cheeks. I didn't even want to know at this point.

Menu's were passed around and I caught Rose eyeballing the low brow setting and looked to Emmett to fill us in on why we drove across town for the burgers at this locale.

"Mom, check this out, there are more than 20 kinds of root beer at this place!"

"Well, I am a sucker for a good root beer," I said, watching Emmett and Zeph fist bump.

"Seriously, Bells, this place has the best burgers in Seattle. You'll see. You see anything you like?"

"I was kind of thinking of being brave and trying the spicy burger." The chipotle mayo, peppers and pepper jack cheese sounded yummy. "How are the onion rings?"

"I haven't had them yet, I'm usually barely able to finish the Big Mouth burger," he said.

Rose closed her menu and set it to the side. "I think I'm going to try that spicy burger too, I can handle a little heat. Sounds delicious."

She was smiling and Emmett refrained from exploiting the obvious hot and spicy jokes.

_Nice work Swan, maybe we can work in a little love connection here._

Everyone placed their orders and Zeph busied himself with the coloring/activity page and crayons; content to sip on his micro-brewed root beer.

"So thanks for getting us all jacked up with Carlisle, you know, your pal here could have been fired," Rose said. "Aro usually fires first and asks questions later…Ow."

I kicked Rose under the table.

_There goes my love connection. Damnit._

Emmett rubbed his thumb against his brow, contemplating Rose's statement. "I'm so sorry Bella. I never meant to get you into trouble."

Fortunately, Zeph was completely oblivious to the conversation.

"Can you guys keep it down, please? It all worked out, no more trying to get me to jump ship." I used hushed tones, but my message was heard loud and clear. "It isn't going to happen."

"I know. I just thought it would be fun to work with you again. You can't blame a guy for trying."

Rose was twirling her strawberry milkshake with her straw absentmindedly. "You know, I've sat across the courtroom from your reporter every day for the past eleven months without offering so much as a smile and she has tried on several occasions to be nice to me. Maybe this competition shit is messing with my brain."

"Rose, you have to put a quarter in the cussing jar when we get back home," Zeph said, looking up from his Zippy burger dot-to-dot. "I'm saving for a TV in my room."

"Oh yeah, well I have plenty more where that came from," she joked.

"No you do not, Rose. Thank you very much," I said, reining her in.

She gave me a snarky smile in challenge.

From out of the clear blue sky, Emmett blew me away with some surprise introspection. "The mythologist Joseph Campbell once wrote that in order to wage war, one must first believe his opponent is essentially evil," he said, looking up from his purposeful fraying of the napkin before him. He was talking to both of us, but looking at Rose. "It's a lot harder to believe your opponent is evil if you acknowledge that they are just like you. Likely working at a job that is—just like yours—undervalued and underpaid. Alice, our court reporter, is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet."

Emmett saw the look on my face and laughed. "What? You thought I wasn't paying attention in World Religions didn't you?"

"Well, you did cheat off my tests in that class. Who'da thunk that 10 years later you'd be able pull that out of your ass in time to interpret our little modern day newspaper war?"

"You only thought I was cheating, I was just checking my answers," he said, stealing an onion ring off my plate. He winked playfully and I silently hoped Rose wouldn't notice how he chewed with his mouth open.

All of us dug in, grateful that the burgers lived up to their reputation. The only sounds coming from our table for the next fifteen minutes were distinct moans of pleasure.

_My god, this is as close to sex as I am going to get for a while._

We were their last customers in the restaurant. Since we neglected to check how early—eight p.m.―they closed. Sounds of cleaning pots and grills floated in from the kitchen and I was startled when I looked up to see that the owner had come by our table to ask us how our meal was.

He had a five o' clock shadow along his jaw and warm brown eyes. I almost choked when he was talking to our table but looking straight at me. Rob, the owner had introduced himself as, explained that they were closing up but to take our time finishing up our meal. He flashed Rose and me a toothy smile as he walked away and I heard Emmett grumble something under his breath about chopped liver.

"That man has never walked over to my table before and I've been coming by this joint for easily a year. Throw a few babes into the mix and lo and behold, an entirely new dining experience."

Rose smiled to herself at the babe mention. Zeph looked from Emmett to me like he was going to be sick.

"Eww, did you just call Mom a babe? That is so gross Emmett," he said. He was snarffing up his burger like an animal.

"Hey, I make no apologies for the Emmett McCarty babe-o-meter. This table is maxing out at a solid nine here and I am just content to revel in its glory," Emmett said smirking, with one eye on Rose.

Zeph washed down the bite of food in his maw and had a slightly confused and disgusted look on his face. "I have no idea what you just said, but my friend Alex said boys should stay away from girls. They'll be the death of you."

We all laughed at Zephyr's advice on women. He said that since I was his mom, I didn't really count as a "girl" and I tickled him as punishment for my mock offense.

Both Rose and Emmett left the work topic alone and for the rest of dinner we easily transitioned to their mutual love of muscle cars. Zeph lightened up the serious conversation riddled with mentions of stainless trim, Mopar, and mean quantities of horse power with his French fry-up-the-nose impression of a walrus.

I was so proud. Proud of Zeph for being a total nerd just like his mom; and proud of my visionary matchmaking skills that would hopefully bring two people a little bit of happiness.

After I dropped Rose back off at her car we left at the office, I felt lonely. More lonely than I'd felt for a long time. It was nice to see Rose loosen up a bit and laugh. I could tell she was enamored with Zeph by the way she pet his hair like a dog as he leaned into her side on the drive home. Today's dog was tomorrow's playmate. Baby steps. I couldn't expect to turn her into my emergency babysitter over night.

_Muahahaha._

I laughed silently, but oh, so evilly. The harpy cackling on my shoulder couldn't dampen my mood. Zephyr was sound asleep. His dead weight practically knocked me over when I was trying to get the front door to our apartment open.

_Jesus, this kid is almost as big as I am_.

I slipped off his shoes and jeans, forgoing the pj's, and tucked him into bed. He was so sweet when he was sleeping. Even the smudge of ketchup in the corner of his mouth was kind of cute. I crawled into my cold bed and laid there staring at the ceiling for the longest time. I thought about Emmett and how he acted tonight. We were back to being completely normal with each other, post hot sex on the floor. I knew that he would be fine and hopefully he would man-up and make a move on Rose.

I thought about Edward Cullen. He was so beautiful. I was curious about how his company's public launch went and tried to come up with a reasonable plan to contact him. Would it sound casual? Would he see through the ruse? I wondered if it would rankle Tanya further if I called him.

_Let's hope so._

_

* * *

_

When I arrived at the office the next morning, I busied myself with my morning routine: returning phone calls and checking with sources to flush out a story for the next day's issue. I noticed that our managing editor, Lauren, forwarded me an E-mail about the grand reopening a chain of pet grooming businesses that recently underwent a facelift. I braced myself and hoped like hell this was a suggestion and not an actual assignment. This was barely passable for newsworthy and there were plenty of enterprise pieces I could work on if nothing substantial jumped out at me before the end of the day.

I kept my head down at our daily news staff, hoping Marcus wouldn't bring up the email. No such luck.

The roaming tennis ball made it to the business section. I caught it deftly and offered up a human interest piece based on the Boeing cutbacks due to the union negotiations the prior week. I also heard about a few closures and said I would write a roundup of the downtown businesses closing up shop. I heard through the grapevine that the proximity to continued construction along the waterfront had affected parking availability and access to store fronts. A handful of longtime businesses decided to throw in the towel or relocate rather than fight the city any longer. Retail sales were still struggling in Seattle and the economy had forced businesses with extenuating circumstances to reassess their entire operation—those with location problems seemed to be banding together to send a message to the city manager and planners making the decisions to do things like relocate water mains and upgrade sidewalks.

I tossed the ball back to Marcus and awaited his customary two cents on my topics. His facial expression was confused and he asked me what happened with the dog groomer grand reopening.

Jake snickered behind me and any pity I'd felt for him last night flew right out the window.

"Uh, I guess I just didn't think that story was all that newsworthy," I said, hoping like hell he would agree with me.

He scrawled a note on the tablet in front of him and looked up at me from over the tops of his glasses.

"Pets today, closures tomorrow, Swan." He waited for me to acknowledge his directive.

I nodded and mumbled something along the lines of "yeah, okay." I felt like I was going to be sick. I was writing a story directly for the publisher. I went back to my desk and reopened the E-mail and scrolled down to the bottom. Sure enough, the original story request came from the advertising manager. Someone, namely the grooming business, had spent enough money on ads to buy themselves a story. I felt cheap. I know I didn't get into reporting to write under duress.

After the meeting, Rose was not pleased with our esteemed leader. Under her breath she said, "Wonder what crawled up Marcus's ass and died? That is a lame fucking story assignment." She plopped her butt over on the center of my desk and plucked a grape from my lunch sack.

"Well, I'll give you one guess. His name starts with A and ends with O," I said pointing to my computer monitor.

Rose and I conspired a bit and I considered telling other reporters about what I was being asked to do, but as I looked around the newsroom, I realized that other than Rose—and Jake the fucktard—I didn't really know anyone. Seeing the waste of energy my whining would accomplish, I decided to take a walk and get some fresh air. Perhaps just a few times around the block would help me cool off. Through the ridiculously small windows in the newsroom I could tell it was somewhat sunny outside. I was barely on the sidewalk, past the heavy glass front doors of _King County Reporter,_ when I noticed a black sedan pull up along the sidewalk right next to me.

Startled by the intrusion, I scooted over toward the center of the sidewalk and kept walking but the car rolled forward a few feet keeping up my pace. I turned my head when I heard the automatic door roll down and thought perhaps they needed directions.

"Excuse me Miss Swan, I was wondering if you could spare a moment to take a ride with me."

I stopped and peered inside nervously so I could see who was talking to me. The words were caught in my throat and I felt my pulse race when I recognized the piercing green eyes staring back at me.

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**AN**: Dun, dun, dun. So uh... who do you think was in the car? Hmmmm. I've given you much to ponder, my pretties. HUGE thank you for all of you that reviewed my little story. If you leave me a review, I promise to send you a teaser to my next chapter. It may be a bit before you get it, BUT I never forget. XOXOXO


	10. Chapter 9 Misunderstood

**SM owns. No copyright infringement intended.**

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**~Chapter 9 - Misunderstood~**

**BPOV**

_I was barely on the sidewalk, past the heavy glass front doors of__King County Reporter,__when I noticed a black sedan pull up along the sidewalk right next to me._

_Startled by the intrusion, I scooted over toward the center of the sidewalk and kept walking but the car rolled forward a few feet keeping up with my pace. I turned my head when I heard the automatic door roll down and thought perhaps they needed directions._

_"Excuse me, Miss Swan, I was wondering if you could spare a moment to take a ride with me?"_

_I stopped and peered inside nervously so I could see who was talking to me. The words were caught in my throat and I felt my pulse race when I recognized the piercing green eyes staring back at me._

I swallowed thickly and leaned in a little. I found myself nervous and wondered if this was going to be a conversation that I should flee from. Under normal circumstances, I think that the pre-Seattle Bella may have ran from the vehicle and the man inside of it like a virgin in a whorehouse, but I was getting used to this braver, no nonsense Bella.

"Well, that depends on what I'm getting myself into. Is everything okay?" Upon further inspection he appeared to have a split lip that had begun to heal. A day ago, possibly two… his injury couldn't be that old—I just saw him on Monday.

"I um, I don't want to speak about this out the window, so if you wouldn't mind…" he opened the door and gestured for me to come inside.

I took a look back at the ominous front doors and figured I had nothing better to do. So I threw caution to the wind and got into the back seat, carefully keeping my skirt in place so as to avoid giving him a show. As soon as I got in, the driver, who I had barely noticed in this encounter, looked at me through the rearview mirror briefly and quickly pulled away from the curb.

The air was charged inside the vehicle and I looked to the man on my right for some sort of explanation.

"A lot has happened since Monday, Bella and I wanted you to be prepared in the event my actions come back to haunt you," he said, exasperated. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a second and turned those green eyes back on me.

"Alright, so haunting doesn't sound so promising, what's this all about Edward?"

"My father was livid with my decision to allow our interview. I thought the story was great by the way, I mean I never, erm, expected my launch to be so explosive. So-thank you, I probably should have called to tell you that. My partner Jasper would probably kiss your feet at this point if you asked him to," he said with a slight chuckle.

He was nervous. It wasn't something that would register as nerves for someone who hadn't ever spoken with the ever charming Edward Cullen, but I could feel his energy and his body was giving off a definite humming vibe.

He liked my story though; maybe he is here because he likes me.

My fingers fidgeted in my lap at the compliment. I sucked at accepting gratitude. I was much better at accepting criticism. My eyes moved to Edward's lips. They looked so soft and I wondered how they would feel under mine. I wanted to lick them and explore every little crease of his mouth.

I inadvertently opened my mouth and made a little noise at my burgeoning fantasy.

Edward noticed and got a confused look on his face.

"Are you feeling all right? You look a little…" he seemed to be trying to figure out what my ailment was, "Flushed?"

"I'm fine Edward. Perhaps it's just a bit warm in here. Anyway, are you going to finish explaining what you needed to talk with me about? Because so far this is all stuff you could have told me over the telephone."

My tone was bitchy to cover my embarrassment, but I found it impossible to control. What was I supposed to say? I was practically foaming at the mouth.

He winced and pulled away from me a little. Our bodies were leaning into each other and Edward righted himself and continued. "You told me that my father's phone calls had gotten you in trouble at work, so I was hoping to avoid that. I just wanted to tell you that, he and I exchanged… words, about his pursuit of you for the Enterprise and I don't think he will be bothering you again."

"When you say 'words', you mean blows, don't you?" I asked quietly, my fingers unconsciously moved to my bottom lip.

He mirrored my action and touched his lip. "Oh right. I forgot there was evidence of our conversation. Yeah, I guess it did, but I made sure he got the worst of it." The sight of Edward smirking at me about did me in and I had to force myself to stay focused on what he was saying because my body was reacting to his presence like he had his own magnetic field.

My stomach rolled at the realization that I had been the cause of so much trouble. But I wasn't naïve and I had expected Carlisle to react poorly to my story. I just anticipated that it would be me who bore the brunt of his reaction.

"Edward, I am so sorry. This whole story idea was stupid and selfish—" He quieted me, putting a forefinger to my lips. The tingles that set off were like fireworks. I could feel my heart pounding so loudly in my ears I was certain he could feel it too.

"I am a grown man, Miss Swan. I am responsible for my actions and had I not wanted to grant your request for an interview, well, let's just say that no matter how lovely the reporter, I would have stood my ground." My brain tripped up and did somersaults over his 'lovely reporter comment but I remained quiet, even when he removed his finger from my lips.

"Carlisle and I have been on the outs for years, partially because I wanted nothing to do with his family business, but mostly because I can't begin to forgive him for continuing to humiliate my mother by cheating on her with countless women." Edward's eyes were pained at his revelation and his jaw was clenched like a man resolved in anger.

"So, anyway, Miss Swan, when the subject of your story came up in a heated exchange between the two of us, his uh—wandering eye and obvious interest in you were topics we broached. My mother overheard and kicked him out."

"I see." I took a moment to digest what Edward was telling me. In all the details I'd heard and read about regarding the Cullen family, I'd come across no information about Edward's mother.

"I still can't help but feel responsible." My voice had turned quiet and I was talking more to myself than him.

His smirk had returned. "You give yourself entirely too much credit, Miss Swan. Carlisle cooked his own goose a long time ago. If he was embarrassed by your story, he had only himself to blame. It was a result of his own making and I'm sure he has moved on to some other whore to warm his bed."

My cheeks instantly stung with a vibrant pink hue as though I'd been slapped across the face.

"Are you comparing me to a whore, Edward Cullen?"

"No, I—"

He was flustered, and obviously caught off guard by my reaction. Incensed barely scratched the surface of my feelings and God was I embarrassed. Edward clearly thought that I was the kind of woman that flaunted herself to get what she needed and I was done with this conversation and him.

We pulled up to a light and were roughly eight blocks from my work.

"Stop the car please," I said, raising my voice to the driver.

"Wait—let me explain!" He reached across the seat and tried to grab my knee to keep me seated but I pulled away. "At least let me take you back to your work. Please, Isabella, be reasonable!"

"Now you think I'm unreasonable? Well, Edward Cullen, thank you," I said, sliding out of the car. "Thank you, for providing the cherry on top my perfectly fucked day!"

* * *

I had managed to keep the tears at bay throughout my walk back to work, which was monumental, because anger was my most frequent trigger point for waterworks. What started out as a walk to clear my head of work problems ended as a total failure; I was more keyed up now than I had been after the staff meeting. I sighed and kept a steady pace in the direction of the _Reporter_, oblivious to the scents and sounds of spring that drew me outdoors in the first place.

_What was Edward thinking? God, he was such an idiot. To think, I was swooning over him like a bitch in heat._

With each step my anger slowly morphed into extraordinary embarrassment. My face was still on fire and I was glad I had the opportunity to slow down and try to get my heart rate under control. Replaying the conversation in my head it dawned on me that I didn't really believe that Edward thought of me as a whore. My reaction was instantaneous though. Maybe I was just sensitive because I was feeling guilty; I practically broke up the man's parents.

_Fuck, Angela was right. I am a drama queen._

I took a short detour and walked into a neighborhood park. It wasn't much more than a few benches and trees with a patch of grass, but I needed a few more minutes to collect myself. I don't think I'd ever in my life been more affected by a man. His mouth, his fresh showered scent, his fingers… Maybe just being around him sent my pheromones into overdrive and my normal ability to reason and think before I speak was impaired. Like some sort of virus. I laughed at myself and I swear to God it sounded a little maniacal. A passerby might think I was a crazy woman, sitting by herself on a park bench laughing. All I needed was a shopping cart and a dog tethered by a rope and a jacket fashioned from a garbage bag.

I hauled myself to my feet and decided that hindsight and sore feet in heels provided me some perspective. By the time I saw the news building at the end of the block, I was grateful for a little bit of real pain to focus on other than the jumbled up emotions I had let rule my mouth and brain for the past hour. Since I met the Cullens, I had been involved in three embarrassing scenarios: Carlisle and my work, in Edward's office trying to get a goddamn story and in his car less than twenty minutes ago.

Well, either Venus is in retrograde or the universe is trying to tell me to stay the hell away from them. If you can hear me, please take note. Message received, loud and clear.

I managed to make it up the elevator and into the newsroom bathroom without drawing any attention to myself and cleaned up my make-up. I needed to pull myself together to do a fricken pet shop story and at that point I was glad to get back to work. Once I was satisfied with my appearance, I used the toilet and discovered the reason for the season: I got my period for the first time in six months.

_Fuck my life._

* * *

Zephyr helped me unload the groceries and chatted on about the events of his day. He seemed pretty oblivious to my glum mood and I did a pretty good job at feigning interest in the minutia of playground politics and the lunchtime projectile vomit story.

"Serves the lunch lady right though, I'm glad she had to clean up Priscilla's puke."

Mom radar kicked in with that statement and my conscious dwelling on the days events faded into the background.

"What do you mean serves her right, Zeph?" I said, as I set the stock pot on to boil. "I don't like hearing you talk like that. What's going on?"

He looked up from his cursive homework at the kitchen table and his facial expression was reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights.

_Doh! Busted._

I was in the dining room now with my hands on my hips awaiting an answer.

"Mary the lunch lady is mean. She doesn't like any of the boys in my class and we don't like her either."

I squatted down to his level and rested my head in my folded arms on the kitchen table. Given my track record for the day and my already established propensity to fly off the handle, I wanted to tread lightly and give Zephyr an opportunity to explain.

"Go on," I said.

"Well, I think she just doesn't like boys. She kept me inside for part of lunch recess for trading sandwiches with Andy on Monday, and last week she made me clean up all the garbage in the lunchroom for shooting a basket with my empty Sun Chips bag."

"Okay, is there anything else?"

"Um… I heard her call another kid 'a little punk' today…" he said quietly, looking down at his homework to avoid my eyes.

"Listen kiddo, you need to learn to live by the rules. If the school says you can't shoot baskets with your garbage or swap lunches, then you need to work within that." I lifted his chin to look into his face.

"Alright, Mom, I'm sorry." Zephyr was rarely scolded. Honestly, he was one of those kids that didn't feel the need to act out a lot to get attention. I don't really think it had anything to do with me being a good Mom. He was just a really good kid.

"Calling second graders punks isn't okay though, and I want you to let me know if anything like that happens to you, alright? I want to hear about this stuff. You won't get in trouble for telling me what is happening at school."

He nodded and I stood up to get back to making dinner. I kissed the top of his head and made my way to grab the sausage out of the fridge.

Something about the conversation was still bothering me, and I decided to ask one more question. "So, Zeph, why do you think the lunch lady called that kid a punk anyway?"

"Well, I think he was laughing at her because she had to clean up Priscilla's throw up," he said sheepishly. I raised my eyebrows in response to the revelation.

_Ahhh, well then, he was a bit of a shit then wasn't he?_

"Uh huh. Well you better not let me catch you participating in stuff like that, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Mom, I hear you."

Other than Mary the lunch lady and Priscilla Pukes-A-Lot, our evening was uneventful. I left Zeph to watch Hannah Montana reruns on cable and escaped into a hot bath. Running through the events of my day, I was able to grasp the full horror of my actions. Somehow I made it through my story today and it turned out alright. I refused to go and interview the proprietor though. I did a phone interview and sent Jacob to grab a photo for my page. I was almost hoping the Enterprise scooped me on the construction-motivated businesses closures so I could rub it in Marcus' face and say I told you so.

But it was Edward's face that I couldn't get out of my head. I hadn't expected him to try to contact me at work, but I realized when I was shutting down my computer for the day, I was disappointed he hadn't.

_Probably had his fill of crazy earlier in the day, thank you very much._

It was probably better this way. If I didn't have to see him or talk to him again, I could forgive myself for the blunder and pretend it didn't happen. I didn't even tell Rose. The last thing I needed was more of an audience to my idiocy.

I sunk deeply into the hot bathtub, dunking my head below the surface, encouraging the water to wash away my sins.

* * *

I settled in to a full scale pedicure after my bath. A glass of wine and a little pampering was just what the doctor ordered. I painted my toes lime green, it was a soothing color. Mid stroke on my big toe, my cell phone started blasting with Emmett's tune. "My bologna has a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R. My bologna has a second name it's M-A-Y-E-R…"

I started whistling along because I just think the ringtone is goddamn funny, but cut the song short so that it didn't wake up Zephyr.

"Hey there, meatstick. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ha, ha, Bella, you're a riot. You know, I think I have outgrown the 'meatstick' nickname."

"Au Contraire, Mon Frere, your Slim Jim days are not that far behind you," I said, laughing. "I think I'm going to tell the story of your high school Slim Jim eating contest with Tyler at your eulogy."

Oh I needed a laugh. I could always count on Emmett.

I will never forget the sight of regurgitated meat sticks and that evening's asparagus on the side of the dirty white stucco'd Piggly Wiggly grocery store. Emmett rued the day that damn store had a two for one deal on his favorite processed meat and I served as a constant reminder of his darkest hour. It was a sore subject for my meatstick, but funny as fuck. His dad made him volunteer at the store for the entire weekend and Em was forced to scrub the puke off and pry up the stuck on gum and other unmentionables ground into the asphalt parking lot.

"You wouldn't dare. Besides, beyotch, I am going to live _waaay_ longer than you, you don't even work out. Sit and stew on what I might say for your eulogy, hon. I got the goods and I'm not afraid to use them."

I had no idea which embarrassing story he would conjure, but truth be told, he had a lot to choose from.

"Alright, alright. Whad'aya want. Surely you didn't call me at ten o'clock at night for a stroll down memory lane." I finished my toes and bent my knees up to my chest so I had a good angle to blow them dry.

"Well, depends on which memory. If memory serves, we have some recent goodies that I plan to commit to permanent memory," he teased. "What are you doing? Are you blowing into the phone?"

"I'm drying my toes, fucker, and I've got several other things to do before bed as well, so stop pussy footing. What is up?"

"I want Rosalie's phone number. I called her at the office but she told me not to call her at work and hung up on me. Can you believe that shit?"

A Cheshire grin crossed my features. They were playing right into my hand.

_Hook, line and sinker, bb. I've got you right where I want you, Emmett McCarty__._

"Huh. I don't have her home number, Em, but you could try her email addy," I suggested. "That's printed at the foot of all her stories."

"C'mon, Bells. Help a guy out? I can't get her out of my head. I don't even want to go to the clubs," he whined.

"Poor, baby. You're nutty if you think a woman like Rose is going to fall for your normal come-ons, Emmett. So you better start thinking up something creative."

"Wha—? You're not going to help me?"

"Nope," I said, popping the 'P.'

"Why not?"

"Because. Let's say I help you and you guys move along swimmingly and end up getting freaky all over the place and move in together complete with the clichéd his and hers towels. Every time you fuck up, I'll end up paying for it. In case you haven't noticed, Em, Rose takes no prisoners. I got you two this far and introduced you, but this is where I get off the Emmett Express. I want to be fair and impartial. Neutral territory. Fucking Switzerland. You are my oldest friend, babe, but I work with this woman _aaand _I like her."

He was grumbling under his breath about my Emmett Express comment. "Seriously. That's all I get. No insider goodies or nothin'?"

"You really are a baby, you know that?" I wracked my brain looking for some little detail that might help my meatstick. "I know she has the lunch special at that deli across from the courthouse on Friday's. She mentioned this fuckawesome Thai Curry chicken soup special that she goes bananas over."

"Sweet! I knew she liked it hot and spicy."

I groaned. "Word to the wise. DO NOT use that line on her or she might stab you in the eye with her heel."

"Right. Got it. Anything else?"

I got a little sad for a moment. Remembering all the fun times we've had together, just the two of us. My heart swelled a little because I knew full well that Rose could be the one for Em. She was smart, sexy, fun and had all the skills necessary to keep him eating out of the palm of her hand.

"Weed out the cheesy lines, Emmett, but just be yourself. You're a catch and if you are serious about her for something more than a one-time hook up—she'll see it. If she doesn't, then she isn't worth it."

I liked Rose and I did have a vested interest in the whole Switzerland thing, but this was Em we were talking about.

"Cool. Thanks Bells. You know, if this reporter thing doesn't work out fer ya, you could have a bright future writing half-time locker room speeches."

Visions of hot, sweaty, muscular football players danced in my head.

"Ya think?" I asked, smiling.

"Yeah, no. I was just joshin' ya, but it was a damn fine speech, bb. Okay, gotta run, Rey Mysterio is tearing it up on Wrestle Mania tonight and that shit is being Tivo'd for posterity purposes."

I rolled my eyes at the thought of Em's favorite wrestler, a short little Mexican in a pleather face mask. "You do that. I'll talk to you later. Night, Em." I could hear the roar of the idiotic WWE men yelling at each other on Emmett's television.

"Night, Bells."

* * *

I slept like shit, but since I had taken a bath the night before, I allowed myself an extra fifteen minutes in cozy warmth with my hand on the snooze button. Anticipating my need for a smooth morning, I had set up the coffee for a delayed brew and the smell of nutty caffeine roused me out of bed. I brushed my teeth and washed my face quickly and grabbed a cup of hot, yummy goodness and settled on the sofa for a minute, trying to finish waking up.

An hour and fifteen minutes later I was weaving slowly through the morning traffic in front of Zephyr's school. I noticed that the same mom with the twin first grade girls left her white Mercedes wagon in front of the school, parking in the drop off lane for nearly ten minutes in front of the no parking sign. I felt my irritation bubble at the prissy bitch who thinks we can all wait for her, but tamped it down with some self soothing.

_I__t's fine Bella. You are not in a hurry. You're going to have a good day. You're going to have a good day…_

I was right on time when I got to my desk and opened up the day's paper while the computer booted. Rose had already been in because her computer was on and a lunch sack was propped up on the pile of court files on her desk.

She must have had court at eight this morning. I wonder if she'll mention the phone call from Emmett.

I was about to dive into my emails when I noticed my story on the business page. The photo of the pet shop owner was four columns wide and she was holding two pug puppies that were licking her face.

I mumbled something to the effect of "God, I want to barf" when I heard someone clearing their voice behind me.

Startled by the noise, I nearly knocked my coffee mug over the newspaper I was looking at in my haste to turn around.

"I thought the photo was nice. Readers love pets. I used a smaller version for the teaser on the front page."

Lauren. My managing editor, who rarely steps foot into the newsroom. Being here at 8:15 must have been a first for her.

"Uh, yeah, well I guess I think it's just a bit over the top for a grand reopening story," I said, quietly. I couldn't help feeling intimidated by her as she towered over me with a challenging stance.

"Nonsense," she said with a fake smile. "I'll be the judge of when something is over the top."

"Right, well, you're the boss." I knew of and had worked with a few editors that didn't place much value in their reporters' judgment. Lauren didn't move away though and my discomfort with her proximity caused me to fidget with my mug. "Is there anything else, Lauren?"

"Yes actually." She moved around my desk to sit at the desk across from mine. It belonged to an older lady who worked on some monthly home improvement section and had little Precious Moments figurines and pictures of her cats scattered around it. Lauren obviously found the décor less than pleasing because she hardly hid her distaste as she placed one of the framed cat photos down on its face in front of her. She would be almost pretty if she didn't have a permanent sneer etched into her features.

She didn't beat around the bush. "Monday's business feature on Edward Cullen's expansion prompted phenomenal sales on the newsstands. Mr. Volturi has requested a follow up story about him and the Seattle Cycles. Perhaps a more in-depth look at life after the launch. The fact is, Miss Swan, our readers are voracious for swoon worthy men like Cullen and you are just the girl able to give them more of what they want."

I might have thrown up a little in my mouth. I couldn't figure out if it was the likelihood that I was going to have to face Edward again or the image of Lauren sinking her talons into him.

_Oh, I hate this woman._

"Lauren I really doubt that Mr. Cullen is going to have time to talk to me again. He is very busy, and I angered his PR lady when I barged into his office last time. She sent me a stern warning via email on Tuesday. "

She pursed her lips and looked to the ceiling, appearing to consider my argument. "Yesterday I might have accepted that excuse, but today—not so much." She smiled her fake smile again and stood up from the desk. "Maybe you should take a drive and think it over."

_Fuck. Someone saw me get into his car._

"Marcus will go over the details with you, but I expect the story soon. I know you won't disappoint me."

A chill came over me as she disrupted the air and walked across the newsroom to her office. I looked surreptitiously around the office for signs of video cameras or other surveillance equipment. I didn't have the luxury of hating my job yet because, what was the point? I needed it. However, I was not above hating Lauren.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. I focused on digging into my downtown business closures story and avoided Marcus until nearly four o'clock when I notified him that my stories were ready for him in the shared drive. Stories went through a series of edits before making it into print the following morning, and Marcus' folder was the first stop.

He thanked me and despite the creeping deadline, he walked over to my desk. I knew what was coming.

"So Lauren mentioned another piece on the Cullen kid, huh?" He said as he seemed to be trying to broach the topic gently.

I busied myself putting my desk in order and filing my notes. I just gave him a deadpanned look in response. I wasn't going to make a big stink, but I wasn't going to shy away from this conversation either.

"You're pissed about being told what to write, Bella. I get that. But that's the way it rolls here. Most of the time you get to write what you want. Sometimes you don't. No matter how you felt about the story yesterday, the Cullen thing is different. He is interesting and newsworthy, even if half of that is due to the fact that his dad is our competition. The public eats up the competition and that interest makes it a story in itself." If I wasn't so annoyed at him, I would have noticed that he was wearing a new sports jacket and looked rather handsome when he was talking about something he believed.

Marcus wasn't the bad guy, and I was grateful that I was one step removed from being gripped in the jaws of our managing editor. I thought about what he said and I hated that he was right, but I wasn't going to let him get off that easily about the pet shop.

"Was my story something the ad department sold, Marcus? Because I don't think I can work—"

He shook his head and cut me off. "I don't know anything about that, Bella. But I do know that sometimes we have to find a story when we wouldn't normally have given it a second thought. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be. You are trained to ask questions, but once you step foot through those doors," he said, pointing to the front door of the newsroom, "you need to put on your game face. Aro wants to put the Seattle Enterprise out of business and we are the people that are going to make it happen."

My inner voice finished his thought: one ad at a time.

I made peace with Marcus, even if it was a tenuous one. He was a good guy. Under different circumstances, I might have even developed a crush on him. I liked his deep brown eyes and easy smile. But, alas, he was passing along orders from the witch boss, Lauren. So I tried to make peace with my lot in life. I could continue to be proud of my projects, even if I wasn't proud of the way the paper ran the business. Even my gig in San Francisco frustrated the hell out of me at times.

I can do this.

Before leaving the office, I sent an email to Tanya Denali requesting an interview, cc'ing Edward. If Edward agrees to this, it will be a miracle. One thing was clear though, I was going to need reinforcements and it meant I was going to have to spill the beans about my embarrassing incident I was now referring to in my head as "the whore incident." I saw Rose turning off her computer and grabbed my bag to catch her before she left.

"Hey Rose, you busy tonight?"

"Why, are you needing a favor or something?" She haughtily threw her hair over her shoulder and flashed me a sideways smirk. "Not sure if I mentioned it or not, but I don't really do that sort of thing."

I loved how she made no apologies for being bitchy.

"I was thinking I could make you dinner and pick your brain about a problem I have." She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced that she was interested in dipping her toe into my 'problem.' I needed to up the stakes and stroke her a bit. "It's a man problem," I whispered, so as not to call attention to myself.

_Score!_ I could tell by the smug look on her face that I was in.

"Well Bella, why didn't you say so," she said, putting her arm around my shoulder. "Men are my specialty."

* * *

**Hey there girls. Did we ever doubt that men were Rose's specialty? Teehee. Not me. In case you haven't noticed, we are almost to the prologue. Shit is about to hit the fan, so you might want to grab your big girl panties. Special shout out to my Rehab peeps Revrag and Detka who beta'd for me in a pinch while my friend Mopstyle got fixed up. Thank you and get better soon Mop! Leave me a review and tell me what you think and I will send you a teaser before I post my next chapter. I promise!**


	11. Chapter 10 Highway to Hell

SM owns all I just play God with her characters.

**No lead up or explanation. My amazing friend Detka reminded me that people were still waiting for this story. Don't know who you are, but in the crazy event you really exist, here you go.**

* * *

Her dark blue eyes were casting their judgment upon me. I could feel it. She took a long, slow swig of her microbrew and shook her head in contemplation, and probably a bit of disgust. I was so ashamed of my behavior I wondered what my college ethics professor would think in light of what I just shared with Rosalie.

"Well, between your fucktabulous approach on his story and the in-car freak out display, I just… am at a loss."

Zephyr was fast asleep after having eaten his weight in pepperoni pizza and gorged himself on popcorn during the DVD viewing of my junior high favorite, _Back to the Future. _I had sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth afterward and answered the phone. I chuckled to myself recalling his reaction to my catching him mid-riff during his air guitar display. The movie had inspired him.

_Whatever happened to Huey Lewis and the News?_ I smirked, remembering how MTV had revealed their extreme lack of coolness. _They are probably like fucking sixty years old by now._

"What's so funny, Swan?"

_Right. Rosalie. Focus_ .

Rosalie had come over after running a few errands on her way home from work. She was supposed to be making me feel better.

"Nothing," I said, hiding my amusement with my beer and taking a drink. Sometimes a cold beer was the most quenching way to slake your thirst. I was desperate to find a way out of my current uncomfortable predicament and I knew by the way that Rose was winding up that she was only just getting started. Avoidance wasn't an alternative. Her eyes traveled over me; likely trying to find the words to accurately label my various layers of absurdity.

I was shifting uncomfortably awaiting her next utterance.

Rose leaned forward resting her forearms on her denim-clad thighs, prompting me to unconsciously lean into what she was about to say.

"Do you know why I am able to avoid situations like yours? Hmm?" she said, not really expecting an answer to her rhetorical question. "Because, Bella, I think like a man. And if I were Edward? Right now, I'd be thinking you were a certifiable loon. Trouble."

She took another drink and gave me a smug look, taking in my defeated expression. "Cute as fuck– but trouble."

My lower lip that was firmly embedded between my teeth in a disappointed frown, turned up a little at the corners. Rose leaned back on the couch and crossed her ankle over her right knee.

_Shit, she even sits like a man._

She gave me a loud guffaw and rubbed her fingers to her forehead. "Oh don't worry, Bella. I don't swing that way. But if I did, I'd totally do you."

Now it was my turn to laugh. God, when did my life get so fucking complicated that being considered hot by a girlfriend was the highlight of my day.

_When you laid your fucking eyes on Edward – that's when._

"So, I'm reading between the lines, but it's obvious have a thing for this Edward guy. Why not just tell Marcus you have a conflict of interest? I mean, he should let you out of this story with an explanation…"

"I don't think so. I told you, Lauren knows I have some sort of personal connection with Edward as it is. That's what she's banking on to get the story." I sighed feeling more and more like a lost cause.

"I hate that bitch," we said in unison.

We laughed again and I was grateful for the release. I'd been so tense all day, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, the way I see it, you have only one option then. Get the story, and the man," she said, matter-of-factly. She picked a piece of lint off her jeans absentmindedly.

I was about to argue with her logic, but she cut me off. "Don't even bother to waste your breath telling me you aren't interested in him or that you don't think he likes you. You're hot. You're horny. You have no choice but to do the story. So… why not make it worth your while."

"Do you normally talk to your women friends like this?" I asked, incredulous at her bluntness.

She chuckled a little and stood up to put her empty beer bottle in the recycling. Sauntering to the fridge, she opened the door and bent over to display her assets. Looking over her shoulder at me Rose gave me a knowing grin. "I don't have any female friends, Bella. I'm sure you can appreciate why might be."

She pried off the bottle cap on the opener on the side of the fridge and put a hand on her hip, allowing her statement to sink in. To say Rose was stunning was an understatement. Her hips were narrow, her ass was round, her legs went on for miles and her breasts were large and fabulous. To top it off, she had thick blonde hair and a flawless complexion. The woman could stop traffic during rush hour. Sure, I had noticed, but it never occurred to me to not like her because of it.

"Women hate me because of the way I look, most men are intimidated by me and expect me to be dumb as a doornail and on most days I go home alone wondering if life would just be easier if I were born without the brain cells necessary to deduce Pythagorean theorems and be a step ahead of a state prosecutor strategizing effective techniques of voir dire."

I was wracking my brain for a definition of voir dire.

Second semester political science… the mnemonic device I'd used to memorize legal terms was on the tip of my tongue, but Rose took pity my apparent vocabularylapse.

"Jury selection strategy, Bella."

_Yep. I knew I'd heard it before. _

"Right," I giggled, pointing the neck of my beer bottle at her. She laughed too and my discomfort with her knowledge of a handful of my most embarrassing moments, dissipated.

"What do you suggest I do, Rose? I mean, our last conversation ended with me stomping away. How am I going to worm my way back into his trust to get a story, without making myself look like a complete asshole again?"

"Preparation, my friend. Preparation and confidence. If you don't feel confident, then we are just going to have to make sure you are damn well prepared to fake it until you make it."

"Fake it till you make it, huh?"

"Yeah, it's a philosophy I developed to get me through all of those fumbling buffoons in college until I met Bobby Longfingers." The inquisitive and humored look on my face prompted further explanation. "What? He helped me to find my g-spot."

I had a hard time envisioning Rose with fumbling buffoons. A very scary image of her with big hair and a Smashing Pumpkins T shirt, barking orders at the boy wedged between her mini-skirt clad thighs. A chill came over me.

I was skeptical of her advice, but it was better than any other plan I had. Monday morning was speeding towards me like a fucking freight train and even if I wasn't able to admit it to Rose, or myself, the fact that I was likely to come into contact with Edward Cullen on Monday was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

* * *

Charlie picked up Zephyr early Saturday morning to go fishing and Rose kidnapped me and took me to her favorite salon for what she called "a little pick me up."

Outside of work and Zephyr my life contained nearly zero entertainment so I figured it would be a nice thing to pamper myself with considering the week I'd just had. Only, it cost me nearly $250 and rather than feeling pampered, I felt assaulted. Rose was pure evil, like, the devil incarnate. I had to hand it to her though, she was good. She started me out slow, convincing me that a few highlights and lowlights would bring out the hazel and golden flecks in my eyes. The manicure was nice and I was even fine with the eyebrow shaping she recommended. The coochie wax was a whole other story though.

I knew I was in trouble when the waxing specialist brought me a glass of water with fresh squeezed lemon and a disclaimer form I had to sign. She had piercing in every orifice and a few unusual places. Who knew that people put piercings in the center of their cheeks? It was her question that tipped me off that I might not be willing to entrust my precious—albeit neglected— vag, in her care.

"So, are you a bleeder?" she asked, smacking her wad of gum.

"Rooooose!" I called out, embarrassed about the squeak and questioning fear in my voice. I walked through the salon and found her behind the curtain already, with a towel laid out around her waist.

"Hey, Rose? Um… I'm not so sure about this. I had no idea this trip of yours involved physical pain."

"How long has it been since you waxed your kitty cage, Bella?" She got up onto her elbows so she could eyeball me better.

"Kitty cage?"

"Yeah, kitty cage. You know, your rack of clam? If you are sporting an Amazon forest down below, you are not going to be able to walk into Edward's office feeling confident in that new skirt and panties we bought earlier."

"I wouldn't call it the Amazon, but—"

"This is all for you, Bella. Trust," she implored, raising her eyebrows. Rose's esthetician walked through the curtain. "Unless you want a show, babe, I suggest you find that pin cushion and get started."

"Right." I smirked at her pin cushion remark and walked back across the salon. Fucking Rose saw the scary beast about to lay her hands on my holiest of holeys.

I could hardly believe I was allowing Rose to bully me into this. I sucked it up and signed the form. Before I knew it, I was on a table steeling myself for certain torture.

The pin cushion walked into the room once I was covered, all happiness and smiles.

"OK, so what are we doing here for you today? Hollywood, Brazilian, American? We can even trim it into cute shapes if you like."

"How about a little off the top and the sides? Shit, I don't know. You got a menu? This sounds more like a bus tour than a salon treatment."

She snorted at my suggestion. "Clearly this is new for you, so why don't we just take it slow with a vanilla bikini wax and a few extras." She knit her brows together as she took in the scene of my nether region and I had never been more self conscious in my life.

_What? Is it hideous?_

I mean, if anyone would know, she would. I looked on, wondering what she saw. I figured that she is a seasoned professional, with a veritable index of vaginal neuroses to choose from.

_Oh gawd. Just. Kill. Me. Now._

I laid my head back down on the table.

"Alright, but I have to tell you, I'm kinda freaked out by this whole thing right now."

"Relax. I will even use the gentler wax." She snapped on the gloves and instructed me to spread my legs.

I laughed at the poster that they hung on the ceiling and couldn't help but draw the similarities between this and a pap smear. She said she would count to three to warn me before peeling off the strips.

"Sweet Jesus! Fuuuuck!"

My head was swimming and I was on the verge of passing out by the time the lady was done with me. At least I thought she was done. When the light caught the silver glint of the tweezers and she started prattling on about how much my boyfriend was going to love this, I started thinking up revenge scenarios for Rose.

"All done," pin cushion said proudly. "This should last you two and a half to three weeks."

I looked between my legs at the raw hamburger that was now my vag and let out a strangled animal sound. I didn't have the heart to tell her that her handiwork would likely go unappreciated. Hopefully this would heal before Monday or I was going to kill Rose.

I climbed into her car gingerly and tried to ignore the burning heat emanating from between my legs.

"So… that bad, huh?" Rose threw me a sheepish look. She knew she was treading on thin ice.

"What gave it away, Rose? Me, walking like I have a load in my pants, or the visceral scream I let out when pin cushion plucked a pube from my butt hole?"

The rest of the ride home with Rose was pretty quiet. She mumbled something about being a little put out by my "poor show of appreciation" for her efforts.

* * *

"He will see you now, Miss Swan," Tanya said as she walked out of his office and into the massive, yet sparsely furnished lobby. "Mr. Cullen will answer no questions about his personal life, his father,or his father's newspaper. Oh, and um, let me save you the trouble," she added, looking me up and down. "You're not his type. We clear?"

Who the fuck did this lady think she was and what kind of show did she think I was running? Not his type? I need this story and I sure as hell have no intention of allowing the likes of a public relations bitch like Tanya tell me how to do my job.

"Crystal."

"Great. You have 45 minutes until his next appointment. Make it count." With that, she turned on her expensive-looking heel, tossed her hair over her shoulder and stalked out.

Channeling Rose, I straightened my new pencil skirt, grabbed my notebook and walked confidently into Edward Cullen's office. I found him grinning crookedly, with crossed arms and leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Puget Sound. Rather than throw him on the ground and rub myself all over him, I decided to keep my job and opt for the less obvious route. I steeled myself for my line of questioning and put on my tough-as-nails facade.

"Nice to see you again, Edward. The readers of the _King County Reporter_ can't seem to get enough of you and so I am back–against my better judgment–to find out a little more about what makes you tick."

With one raised eyebrow he pushed off the window and leaned over his desk, a bit too closely into my personal space and said, "Oh, Miss Swan … it's going to take a lot more than 45 minutes and a tape recorder to find out what makes me tick."

His piercing green eyes were making me dizzy, and I had to glance away to regain composure. Biting my bottom lip, I swallowed thickly. "Well Edward, I can't go back to my editor without getting this story, so what pray tell, is it that you have in mind?"

Thirty minutes later I slammed my door shut and leaned over the steering wheel of my beater truck trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong. Replaying the conversation in my head, I groaned out loud.

_Well, you walked through the door, dumb shit_.

Resigned to my fate, I picked up my Blackberry and found Emmett's phone number.

"Hello."

"Emmett, for some reason your boss's son is dead set on destroying my life, so I have a favor to ask. I have two and a half weeks to get my ass into shape enough to go backpacking with Edward-fucking-Cullen, because apparently he thinks he is Crocodile Dundee or something. Are you up to the task?" I asked exasperatedly. "Because I don't think I've walked more than two miles at a time since like …."

"Whoa, hold up. Calm the fuck down, Swan, and start at the beginning. How did you start out with the simple task of 'business feature' and turn it into a Grizzly Adams sleepover and fuck-fest in the span of an hour?" he asked, obviously on the verge of busting a gut. "Girl, what do you think Daddy Warbucks is gonna say when he finds out his main squeeze is flirting with the family jewels–only the ones that don't belong to him?" He finally let out a chuckle. "I mean, you might as well pack up your desk now, because there is only one way this little camping trip is going to end… badly."

Emmett continued spewing his asshattery for a few more minutes before inviting me to tag along on his morning run for the next couple of weeks. He also said he could fit in some additional strength training at the gym.

I offered him no real explanations beyond the current disclaimer that I was brand new on the job, and I would be damned if I just usurped my life in California to lose everything a month later.

If I were being really honest though, I would admit to myself that Edward was the most exciting man I had ever been exposed to in my life. Despite that, my entire being suddenly filled with dread over what may well have been my untimely demise. This wasn't going to be pretty.

I put the keys in the ignition and willed my old truck to life. I still had to break it to my editor that I had no story for tomorrow and that he was going to have to pay me extra for the physical exertion and extended hours of my upcoming weekend getaway.

Flipping through the radio stations, I happened across AC/DC's familiar lyric, "I'm on the highway to hell." While not normally a classic metal fan, I just turned it up. I mean let's face it–the song fit the bill, and I have a tendency to wallow in my misery.

* * *

**We have now arrived to the prologue. Want more? Tell me so**.


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